


Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

by writing_as_tracey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (attempting to write) BAMF Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, First Wizard War (Harry Potter), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood style magic, Gen, Plot is coming, Pre-War, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slice of Life, Teen Years, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Transmutation, Tropes, plot what plot?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey
Summary: James Potter went five years at Hogwarts without realizing Lily had a little sister. Hermione would have preferred if he never realized she existed. Now she's stuck, in Potter's circle of awareness, and maintaining the timeline. Not like he makes it easy, or something.





	1. Everything is Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is a "Hermione is Lily's sister" story, I am attempting to avoid some of the usual cliches found in these stories (all which were excellent, btw), but 1) removing Hermione as Lily's twin; 2) not inserting Hermione into the lives of familiar characters, until much later.

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected):

ONE

[ ](http://s32.photobucket.com/user/TraceyT86/media/yesterday%20is%20tomorrow_zpss0v0bsch.jpg.html)

* * *

**Narrator:** We trust that time is linear. That it proceeds eternally, uniformly. Into infinity. But the distinction between past, present and future is nothing but an illusion. Yesterday, today and tomorrow are not consecutive, they are connected in a never-ending circle. Everything is connected.

-  _Dark_ (2017-present), 1x01: "Secrets"

* * *

"Miss Evans, can you stay behind a moment?"

Hermione sighed, looking longingly down at her gathered up parchment, filled with her neat cursive script, full of ideas and arithmancy equations that she wanted to attempt in the Room of Requirements. She glanced up at the professor - not Professor Vector, as that was the Arithmancy professor in her time, but an old, white-haired hawkish-looking man that was a cross between Einstein's eccentricities and a looming Snape - and then glanced pointedly at her kinetic-wound watch on her left wrist. Arithmancy was, sadly, her last class on Tuesdays, and therefore she did not have an excuse to run away from Professor Pythas.

Some of the Hufflepuffs - the two in the class - shot her sympathetic looks but the Ravenclaws, her fellow housemates, ignored her. There was a lone Gryffindor Hermione didn't know well, and several Slytherins she was on vaguely friendly terms with. They were all sixth year students, and she was only fourteen. Or so. Age was difficult.

"Sure, professor," said Hermione instead, turning around with a bright smile on her face. She slid back into her seat.

The man heaved a sigh as he slid into the spare seat in front of her desk, moving slowly as he bent his knees and his rear rested on the hard wooden surface of the chair. "Ahh," he groaned, reaching behind to rub at his back. "These old bones aren't what they used to be."

"I'm sure, sir," replied Hermione, politely, if not confused. "But you don't look a day over seventy."

"Ha!" the man barked, pointing a finger at her. "You're a wonderful student, Miss Evans, but an accomplished liar you are  _not_."

 _If that's what you think,_  she thought, darkly, but allowed the same bright smile she presented him with earlier to grace her lips.

"No, I'm not a day over one hundred and four, but these old bones are  _tired_ ," the man muttered, "I should really ask Albus for retirement soon…"

Hermione cleared her throat. She did have a library to get to, and a Room of Requirement to spend her afternoon enclosed in, eventually. "Sir, what is this about?"

Professor Pythas nodded. "Right. Yes. Of course. You see, Miss Evans - Hermione - you really are quite the accomplished student. I wasn't just saying that, dear."

Hermione nodded. She knew she was an accomplished student, as per his words. That's what happens when you're practically a genius, and already went through Hogwarts once before, even if she did never complete her seventh year or technically graduate. The Ministry still hired her, and she did have the added bonus of being in her forties when she "died."

"I daresay you're even brighter than your older sister!" the man continued, chortling. "Anyway - myself a few other professors, namely Professor Janulus and Professor Flitwick, think that you're not being challenged enough with the sixth year curriculum in Arithmancy, Runes, and Charms."

Hermione made a noise.

"Professor Janulus and I strongly advocated for your skipping ahead to your NEWT year, but Professor Flitwick thinks that self-study might be more in your interest," the man continued, his eyes watching Hermione keenly. "I know that you are quite the raven out of the nest, being the only fourth year in NEWT preparation. But you always had quite the understanding of ancient languages and numbers in ways that I haven't seen in years…"

 _Benefits of time travel and death, reliving my life, Professor,_  thought Hermione snarkily, but she shrugged in response to the man's words, instead. "Numbers is just another language, professor. And I like languages."

 _Also true,_  thought Hermione, as in her - first? Previous? Other? - life, she had known several languages and added more the longer she worked in the Ministry.

Professor Pythas reached forward and patted Hermione's hands, neatly laced together and resting on top of the desk. "Oh, I know my dear. But, well, Professor Flitwick is a bit correct that you will probably be happier in self-study until the the end of the year, when I and Professor Janulus and I think you're ready to write your NEWTs. Or, you can wait until next year to do so."

Two NEWTs before graduating Hogwarts? Hermione's eyebrows went sky-high.  _That_ would look quite nice on her resume, and would help her gain a Mastery.

"That sounds…  _quite nice_ , Professor," she finally said, putting enough emphasis on the two words as a form of shock. Sometimes she hated herself for playing her professors, some she knew well - or, used to know. Will know. UGH. - but another part of her took one look at a bunch of rowdy fifth-year Gryffindors and she wanted nothing to do with her (not-)sister's housemates.

Professor Pythas beamed back at her. "Wonderful, wonderful. I certainly won't mind you continuing to use the class for your own research, as long as you're quiet, which you are, Miss Evans."

Hermione didn't mind that either. She then smoothly rose from her seat, just as Professor Pythas did as well. The man was already moving to the chalkboard, erasing his equations and prepping for his next class, when Hermione finished placing her papers and textbooks in her bag.

She was almost at the door when he called her name.

Hermione turned around.

"Oh, there's one last thing, Hermione, dear," the man called. "Since you are the best we have, I was wondering if you'd be interested in tutoring a student? He needs some help - his mother is actually quite insistent on it, and she's an old, dear friend - and I thought, 'why! Hermione could do it!'"

Hermione pursed her lips.  _Tutor a student? But… my research…!_

Something must have shown on her face because the professor shook his head. "Only for an hour or two a week, Miss Evans. Surely you can spare an hour or two?"

 _When you put it that way…_  "Sure, professor. Who?"

* * *

Hermione was viciously stabbing her broccoli when her best friend in this time slid onto the bench in the Great Hall beside her silently, watching with wide brown eyes. His nose twitched and Hermione slanted a glance at him.

"What?" she growled out.

"Did the broccoli do something to you?" he asked, reaching forward and spooning other veg from the bowl nearest him before moving to his meats.

Hermione scowled. "No. I'm just imaging Professor Pythas' face."

Her friend's eyebrows shot up. " _Really_? You're practically his darling. I'm sure he actually likes you more than he likes his family. What could he have possibly done to make you that angry?"

Hermione dropped the fork on her plate with a clatter and ran her hands through her hair, getting her fingers caught in the curls. She yanked them out and then gathered the dark brown curls shot through with red into a ponytail that turned into a lopsided bun.

"I'm tutoring someone in arithmacy for two hours a week, starting Friday," she muttered.

"... you've tutored people before," her friend pointed out, frowning. "Why is this a problem  _now_?"

"It's more of an issue with the  _who_ ," retorted Hermione.

"Surely not another Ravenclaw," her friend replied, affronted. "None of them need tutoring, first of all; and second, none would willingly want to be in your company, Hermione."

The dead-eye stare Hermione gave her friend would have made a lesser man shrink back a bit. "Thanks  _a lot_ , Barty."

Bartemius Crouch Junior shrugged, instead, shoving a piece of cut pork into his mouth. He chewed noisily and then licked his lips with an exaggerated, " _yum_."

"No, it's not a Ravenclaw," she answered, glancing around at their housemates. None particularly cared for her - from the moment she stepped into Hogwarts, Lily nattering in her ear about how  _they were going to have so much fun in Gryffindor!_  And  _You'll love it, Hermione, I swear!_ , Hermione noped out of there as quickly as possible when the Sorting Hat offered Gryffindor.

She wore red and yellow once. She bled that red, too. Never again.

The soothing tones of blue and bronze beckoned, and she went to the first House ever offered her at Hogwarts, and joined Ravenclaw. Personally, she thought she dodged a bullet - or bludger, if you wanted wizarding idioms.  _Especially_  when she saw the latest prank James Potter and Sirius Black cooked up.

"Who then? Some dundering Hufflepuff?"

"What did Hufflepuff ever do to you?" she asked back.

Together, they glanced over at the Hufflepuff table between them and Gryffindor, and watched as two girls braided another girls' hair at the table, wide smiles on their faces and compliments passing their mouths ever other word.

Barty turned back to Hermione, the expression on his face saying everything.

"Yeah, point made," she sighed. "No, not Hufflepuff."

"And let's be honest, no Slytherin would willingly have a Muggleborn tutor them," sighed Barty, glancing at the Slytherin table, as well as their only other friend, who caught their eyes, frowned, and then pointedly ignored them.

"Wanker," muttered Barty under his breath.

Hermione shrugged. "Whatever. Pureblood politics."

Barty glared at her. " _I'm_  a Pureblood."

"You make a bad Pureblood," replied Hermione without heat. "You know all the words to Roberta Flack's  _Killing Me Softly with His Song_ , and last time you heard the record, you  _cried_."

"I did not!" hotly retorted Barty. "I mean, I  _do_  not. Know the lyrics, that is."

"Uh huh," replied Hermione.

"And how did this become about  _me_?" he continued, glaring at her from beneath his brown fringe. "I thought we were trying to figure out the identity of your new tutoree."

"I know who it is," replied Hermione evenly. "Not you. It's  _you_  who is trying to figure it out."

"Well, when it puts my best friend in such a terrible mood, then,  _yeah_ , I want to know who it is," said Barty, all playfulness from his voice gone.

Hermione marvelled at his mood changes and swings, but knew that they would only get worse as he got older. It was odd seeing the behaviours and habits of her not-Professor-Moody-but-really-Barty-Crouch-the-Death-Eater in her friend.

"So. Who is it?"

Hermione sighed, and woefully, she turned her head back towards the Hufflepuff table, and then looked beyond. Looked specifically at a group of four fifth-year boys who were laughing uproariously about something or the other - at her sister, her long shiny red hair cascading down her back with her face matching the colour as she shouted angrily at the four teens.

Barty's eyes followed hers.

"Oh.  _Oh_."

Then:

"Wait - which one?"

Hermione's sigh grew heavier. Out of the four boys, she could ignore the sandy blond hair of Remus Lupin, with his silvery scars on his face and general genial personality. He was smart enough to be a Prefect and didn't take Arithmancy. Peter Pettigrew, blonde and short, but lean, was not academic slouch either, but his interests lay in potions, not numbers, and he too, did not take arithmancy.

Sirius Black and James Potter, on the other hand, both did - but only one had the natural ability to continue doing well in the course while Hermione was sure the other just took it because her sister was taking it as an elective.

She explained the process of elimination to Barty, who only had two words the sum the entire situation up for her:

"Well. Fuck."

* * *

It happened something like this:

Hermione was forty-seven when some neo-Death Eater group  _somehow_  broke into the Ministry one random, rainy Tuesday. Hermione was not supposed to be in work. Hermione was not supposed to let her curiosity get the better of her, and quickly found herself with her best friend, Harry Potter and Head of the Auror Department, back to back, fighting.

They were in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry, being Harry, did something stupid.

His spell mixed with the spell of the neo-Death Eater, and they ricocheted off one another, hitting the wall behind Hermione.

A wall filled with jars and containers of gaseous clouds or strange swirling liquids of half-forgotten experiments. The jars broke and the contents spilled all over Hermione.

By the time she figured out what happened, she was two years old, and quickly realizing that she was being weaned off diapers.

The temper tantrum that followed was still spoken about in the Evans household with hushed, reverent tones.

It took some time, but Hermione came to the realization that she had somehow been reborn - accidentally or on purpose, who knew - as Hermione Evans. Evans, as in Petunia and Lily. As in, Harry's mother and spiteful aunt.

 _Potter luck_ , thought Hermione, darkly. She'd murder Harry once he was actually born. She'd figure out the logistics later.

In the years that followed, Hermione grew up as Petunia and Lily's younger sister, the youngest child of Leo and Rose Evans and consequently, the babied one. But, Hermione being Hermione, decided quickly that the easiest way she was going to keep her sanity in the coming years was by being precocious (understatement), and set out to master walking and talking, and more importantly,  _reading_.

(She did, to everyone's amazement.)

From there, she made lists. Oodles of them. Lists of important events that hadn't happened yet but were politically important; lists of things she would need or wanted as she got older that were unique to her Hermioneness. And then, a List of Important Shit Not to Get Involved In.

That list consisted of the following:

\- If attending Hogwarts, do not pick Gryffindor

\- If attending Hogwarts, AVOID the following people: Lily Evans, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape…

\- DO NOT CATCH DUMBLEDORE'S ATTENTION

\- Pass your NEWTs. You never did before (#goals)

Initially, not wanting to be around the familiar faces and names of her future was less to do with disrupting the time/space continuum, if that was even applicable currently, and more about not bursting into tears at the sight of her favourite Professor and his kind words, or hearing the barking laugh that never failed to make her smile or roll her eyes, equally.

If she caught Dumbledore's attention, she knew she'd be shortlisted for his Order of the Phoenix, and quite frankly, Hermione had enough of fighting. Or at least, fighting  _his_  war.

So, when it came to Hogwarts, Hermione decided her best option was to be quiet, to be plain, and to be invisible. Unfortunately, that lasted all of three seconds until a boy accidentally barrelled into her as they were getting into the boats that took the first years across the lake, and she and the boy she had been behind, were sent tumbling into the icy cold water of the Black Lake.

Pale faced and blue-lipped, the three of them shivered their way across the Lake as the caretaker, Ogg, couldn't do magic and therefore couldn't warm them up with a charm. They were met in the small alcove below the Great Hall by Professor McGonagall and (a  _very_  young) Madam Pomfrey, who fussed over her and the two boys.

The boy who knocked her over apologized profusely, almost zealously, his face an embarrassed pink. She, she knew, looked like a drowned rat, but took his apologies with kindness. The other boy, with his black hair so dark and shiny when wet it looked blue, refused his apologies.

"I'd rather be friends with the squid," the black haired boy sniffly said. "I don't care for Ministry brats."

Hermione gaped at him. The other boy gaped at him. Then, angrily, she snapped - completely forgetting her plan to be invisible - "Well, with that attitude, that's all you'll likely ever have. I'd rather be friends with a Ministry brat than an elitist toerag."

The brown-haired boy who barrelled into her turned with wide eyes, hero-worship growing. The black-haired boy, did not. "I'm not a toerag! You take that back!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are  _too_!"

"Are  _not_!"

"What's a toerag?"

The innocent question from the brown-haired boy stopped Hermione and the other, and somehow - something - struck them as funny because they collapsed into giggles ahead of the Sorting, cementing a friendship.

"I'm Barty," said the brown-haired boy, shyly. "Barty Crouch, Junior."

"A  _Junior_?" sneered the black haired boy. "Well, I'm Regulus Black."

Barty blinked at him innocently. "Don't you mean, Regulus Black the Second?"

Hermione snorted and introduced herself, "Hermione Gr- _Evans_. Hermione Evans."

And neither said anything about her slip. Or her last name. And that was it, at least for friends. Her fellow Ravenclaws hated how smart she was (benefits of doing the curriculum twice over and being, you know,  _older_  than them); she doubted the Gryffindors even knew who she was, connected to Lily Evans or not; and the Hufflepuffs were friendly with anyone who smiled at them. The Slytherins were aware of her, but in a vague,  _oh, Regulus's pet Mudblood_  way.

And Hermione liked it like that. She liked having four years of relative peace and quiet for her Hogwarts years. She liked having the Room of Requirements to herself, a place where she could hide away and conduct the same experiments she was working on when she died/not died, and advance magical society decades earlier than she had planned.

Until now, that was.

"Well. Fuck." indeed. There went her peace and quiet.

* * *

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Pythas comes from Pythagoras; Professor Janulus is from Powell Janulus, a Canadian polyglot who knows 42 languages fluently.
> 
> Infrequent updates. This plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone.


	2. It's a Curse

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected):

TWO

* * *

**Rita** : Sometimes I wish I had a thousand lifetimes. I don't know, Phil. Maybe it's not a curse. Just depends on how you look at it.

-  _Groundhog Day_  (1993)

* * *

When anyone asked Leo Evans about his daughters, or Rose Evans, his wife, they would have this to say about them:

Petunia, their eldest, was as curly-haired and blonde as Leo, but as lithe as her mother. She had green eyes and was a proper little girl, always wearing freshly pressed pinafores and and shiny black Mary Janes. She had proper manners, "yes sir," and "yes, ma'am," and could be as sweet as pie. However, their eldest daughter, burdened with responsibility as the eldest, also had a mean streak as large as the English Channel, and could hold a grudge forever. She might forgive, but she never forgot.

Lily, their middle child and two years younger than Petunia, was bright and inquisitive. She spoke her mind and had a fiery temper that matched her mother's Irish red hair, green eyes, and thin body. She had the grace of a dancer, the spirit of a fey, and the gumption to back it all up. She was polite, to a point, until she thought someone was stepping on her toes and then she made her opinion known.

Hermione, however… well… she was a bit odd. Their youngest daughter was a surprise - where Lily was born in January of 1960, Hermione was due for December but was born prematurely on September 19. Their youngest had her father's brown eyes and curly hair, but a shade of dark brown that was streaked with undertones of Rose's red. She too, took after Rose in body shape but whereas Petunia aimed to please, and Lily aimed to change the world, Hermione aimed to do… nothing. Ever since she was a toddler, the child had been grumpy, despondent, or in the throes of grief.

Leo and Rose had taken her to her pediatrician on a weekly basis and then eventually a child psychologist, who, completely befuddled, had announced that "Hermione seems to be in the middle of the stages of grief," but no one knew why.

Hermione knew, of course.

She was a forty-seven year old woman trapped in the body of a two year old. Upon realizing what had happened - although she  _still_  wasn't entirely sure, but she blamed Harry and the Potter luck - Hermione railed against being stuck in a toddler's body.

Well, first she was in denial. She was in her forties! Not  _two_. Surely that miscast spell didn't  _send her back in time -_  rather, it killed her. And this was a horrific form of the afterlife.

Two years of thinking that swiftly turned into anger: anger at Harry, for casting his signature spell in the first place that struck the shelf of artifacts in the Department of Mysteries without thinking of the consequences of spellfire in a dangerous area; anger at Hermione's situation for having to relive childhood; and then anger at realizing it was the bloody  _1960s_  and she had her magic and Voldemort was still alive.

By the time Hermione started nursery, a year after Lily, she was firmly settled into the "bargaining" stage. She prayed to God in church on Sundays at her mother's side; she then prayed to Merlin. Neither heard or answered her prayers, so she got creative: she prayed to Morgana, and Hectate, and then Circe, Isis, Diana, Freyja.

None answered, and she slid into depression, one so deep she knew her parents worried for her mental state and Lily and Petunia were sometimes near tears trying to cheer their youngest sister up.

And then, Lily's Hogwarts letter came.

* * *

Hermione was impatiently tapping the solid end of her quill against the desk she had claimed as her own back in her first year the first time around, and the one that she used  _this_  time around as well. It was a tiny alcove off to the main library area, still visible to some but secluded enough that most didn't infringe on her when she was trying to do work.

Lily knew where she sat, and given that she sat on the other side of the desk - visible to all who walked into the library and looked around - Hermione knew that James Potter wouldn't be able to miss her.

Except for the fact that he was already twenty minutes later to their first - and if this kept up,  _only_  - tutoring session.

 _Harry would've shown up on time_. Hermione ruthlessly smothered her ire. Did she honestly expect anything different from James Potter? From the four years she had been at Hogwarts in this time, she knew what the teenager was like. And, over the years, when Harry could spare the time to tell her about what he saw in Snape's pensieve, she had a good idea that  _that_  was an accurate representation of him. But comparing him - even unfavourably - to Harry would only dredge up memories better left forgotten.

Instead, she grit her teeth and her hand clenched around her quill, neatly snapping it in two.  _This is for Harry. For_ Harry _. HAR-REE_.  _Remember, Hermione - for Harry. So you can kill him later._

"Whoa, Evans," a voice said above her, making her jerk her head up in surprise. "Anger issues, much?" He then paused, looked at her, and asked, skeptically, "It  _is_  Hermione Evans, right?"

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. In ancient Greek. And then she opened them and impassively surveyed James Potter.

 _He was mildly attractive,_  she supposed, wrinkling her nose just a bit,  _if one ignored his personality or when he opened his mouth_.

He was tall, and broad-shouldered, and he had an easy grin and charm that fell off him. His Gryffindor jumper fit well, and his tie was neatly knotted, and his trousers were pressed perfectly. If it weren't for his black, wind-swept hair, Hermione wouldn't even peg Harry as a relative - they were too different, too fundamentally different.

Where James held his shoulders back in confidence, Harry had slouched. Where James' hazel eyes gleamed with mischief, Harry's sparkled with danger. The cockiness in James' voice was as different as the wariness in Harry's.

 _Separating them into two different people is going to be_ ridiculously  _easy,_  thought Hermione, almost in surprise. All she - and Harry, in retrospect - had ever heard was how like his father he was…  _lies_.

"Yeah, I'm Hermione," said Hermione eventually. She loosened her grip on the two pieces of snapped quill, and glanced at it. Letting the pieces fall from her hand, she then casually waved her palm above it, and nonverbally cast a  _reparo_. Potter's eyes went wide.

"Whoa," he muttered, his eyes darting from the quill to her. "Wait, you're a  _fourth_  year?"

"Correct," she muttered. "Also: you're late."

"What? Wait, no -"

" _Wait, no_ ," she mimicked nastily in a slightly higher voice than her normal one. "Actually, yes you are. Our tutoring session was scheduled to begin at four o'clock,  _sharp_. It is now four-thirty, and we are thirty minutes behind. Sit your arse down, open your book, and show me your most recent homework."

Potter's mouth, which had dropped open when she interrupted him, snapped shut. His eyes blazed in fury, and, although he fell in the seat opposite her, he leaned forward and snarled across the table, "Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?"

Hermione gazed back at him, nonplussed by the threat in his voice. "I thought we covered that already, or do you have short-term memory problems? That could explain your inability to learn arithmancy. I'm Hermione Evans. Remember? Your arithmancy tutor?"

He rocked back in his seat, staring at her.

She waited patiently, almost as though she could hear the rusty cogs in his brain going  _tick-tick-tick_. "You're nothing like your sister."

"Yep," replied Hermione with forced, false cheerfulness. "Now. Arithmancy. Let's get this over with so I can tell Pythas that I  _tried_ , but you weren't interested and we can both end this sham of a wasted Friday night. I'm sure you have better things to do, because I sure as hell do."

There was something odd in Potter's eyes that Hermione couldn't read - another difference to Harry; her best friend had been an open book - but the fifth year Gryffindor yanked his battered arithmancy text from his bag, slammed it on the table. Inside the front cover were several hastily shoved in loose parchment, which Hermione discovered was his homework for the past three weeks of September, covered in the red ink Pythas favoured for marking things incorrectly.

She grimaced and carefully pinched one piece of parchment between two fingers, edging it towards her like it was the skinny version of the Monster Book of Monsters. Her nose wrinkled. "Is that - is that  _pumpkin juice_  on your homework?"

Potter rocked the chair back on its two legs and crossed his arms as he gazed at her from behind his glasses. "Yep."

"Did you - did you spill it  _before_  or  _after_  you did your homework?" she looked sick just thinking about the runny ink on the page, and what potential answer Potter would give her.

There was something devilish in his eyes and his smile when he purred out, " _Before_."

Hermione whimpered.

* * *

Hermione entered the Ravenclaw Common Room ten minutes to curfew - which was normal for her, any day of the week. Barty, as usual, was waiting for her on the couch facing the door. He didn't look up as he called, "So, how was it? Did you make Potter beg for your help?"

When she didn't reply, he looked up and then nearly flew off the couch.

"Merlin, Hermione!" She stood just inside the door, pale and wide-eyed. It was almost like she was shell shocked. Barty frantically raced over and, forgetting he was a wizard, began to run his hands up and down her arms, shoulders, neck.

"Were you pranked? Did they prank you? Are you hurt?"

His questions came fast and furious, but it wasn't until one of his hands grazed her breast that she snapped out of it and began slapping his hands away.

"Well, excuse me," he said sniffly, stepping back.

Hermione wearily trudged over to the couch Barty vacated and fell heavily into the plush blue fabric.

Sighing, Barty followed and then sat next to her. "That bad?"

"I - I honestly don't know," replied Hermione, eventually, still wide-eyed. "He was late. By thirty minutes. His homework is - is  _atrocious_. I don't even think he knows what he's supposed to be  _doing_." She shook her head. "I don't even know how he passed his fourth year."

Barty was silent, so Hermione glanced over at him and saw he was nervously licking his lips - the very same bad habit that outed him to his father once upon a future time.

"What?" she asked.

"Are you still going to tutor him?" he eventually asked.

Hermione half-shook her head, then nodded, and then settled on a shrug. "I don't think so," she finally said, chewing on her bottom lip. "He didn't seem that interested in learning anyway - he kept asking me about my sister. I think after tonight he'll forget all about me."

Barty looked skeptical, but they parted ways for their separate beds and Hermione, firmly, repeated to herself before falling asleep:  _James Potter won't even remember me. See? Everything is fine. Everything will be fine_.

* * *

Elsewhere, James Potter returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. Sirius Black, his best friend, looked up from here he was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing Exploding Snap with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. It was late, it was dark, and James hastily stuffed his invisibility cloak in his bag.

"Well, mate?" asked Sirius. "How was it? Who's the 'Claw tutoring you?"

James fell into a vacant armchair and grinned. "Hermione Evans."

" _Evans_?" repeated Sirius, gapping.

Remus frowned. "Lily's younger sister?"

James whipped his head around to face his friend. "You  _knew_  she has a sister?"

Remus stared at him. " _You_  didn't?"

Sirius snorted a laugh loudly, thinking it hilarious that Remus knew something about his precious "Lily-flower" that he didn't know.

James flushed and pulled at his collar. "Yes, well -"

"Whatever," dismissed Sirius, turning back to his cards, "Now that Jimmy did his duty, we can get our Friday nights back and he won't be going to these stupid tutoring sessions anymore." There was silence, so Sirius slowly raised his head and looked at James. " _Right?_ "

James shrugged. "I thought I could ask her more about her sister, you know?"

Remus shot him a disapproving look, and Peter asked, quietly, "You're going to ask Lily's sister about Lily… so you... know more about Lily?"

James nodded emphatically.

Remus groaned.

Sirius was caught between grinning at the great idea and frowning at the loss of his friend. "Well…"

"Also," continued James, "She's  _hilarious_  to wind up. Angrier than a wet nundu. It'll be great. After all, what harm can a puny little fourth year do?"

* * *

On weekends, Hermione disappeared from Ravenclaw and Hogwarts life completely. The first few months in her first year, Barty - who trailed after her like some silent, puppyish Neville Longbottom - attempted to follow but Hermione knew the passageways in and out of Hogwarts, and had access to the Room of Requirements. It was easy to give him the slip.

Then, of course, once Barty had told Regulus what was going on, the sneaky Slytherin tagged her with a locator charm and the two cornered her when she returned to the Great Hall for dinner Sunday evening.

 _Busted_ , their collectively disapproving eleven-year-old eyes seemed to say.

In hindsight, Hermione's plans were tossed out of the window the moment Barty bumped into her. There was no way they were going to let her disappear - a Muggleborn who was more secretive than the sneakiest of Slytherins? More knowledgeable on material than any Ravenclaw? She was walking catnip to both of them: Regulus who was  _interested_  in her and her secrets, and Barty, who was  _curious_  about her abilities. (Regretfully, Hermione wondered if maybe being a swotty know-it-all would've been a better cover than silent-but-deadly-smart-nobody. Ah well, too late to change now.)

Hermione didn't give up all her secrets, but she knew of an abandoned set of rooms underneath a staircase by the dungeons that she had… "claimed" when she (returned?) first arrived at Hogwarts. She was using it to conduct her experiments.

First year, it was going through her textbooks nonverbally. While she could do most of those spells as an  _adult_ , she was no longer in her forties. She no longer had settled magic, or a fully-grown body. She had to  _relearn_  things, like her magical muscle memory. Barty and Regulus joined, because she was well-read and her explanations - honed over years of dumbing things down for Harry, Ron, and Neville - meant that she could explain the theory-heavy texts behind things in ways that were easier to grasp.

Of course, these were Pureblood boys from houses that already taught them these spells, so they knew the material - but Hermione was an  _inventor_. She made  _changes_. Not to potions - like Snape - or even to the actual material in the way that he did, writing in his textbooks and the like. No, Hermione took the spells, the results, and wondered  _what if_?

Once upon a time, she was content to leave things as they were - 'if it's not broke, don't fix it' was practically thirteen-year-old Hermione's motto - but in the Ministry, Hermione discovered tiny variations of spells and their histories that were kept separate from the general public. Saw what variations could do in the field when Harry and Ron would return from an Auror mission with new cuts and scars. And she wondered -  _what if I changed something too?_

In the future - her past or present, whatever - Hermione was working on transmutations. She was brilliant at transfiguration, always picking up McGonagall's spells first in the class. She wasn't quite the prodigy, because she  _analyzed_  things too much, but her love for her favourite class at Hogwarts, Arithmancy, meant that she could combine the two into transmutation - something never really covered academically.

Transfiguration was the change in something's appearance or form; transmutation was the subatomic change of one item into another form completely. The Philosopher's Stone was a transmutation, of sorts. Its alchemical properties followed for coal to become gold; for someone mortal to become  _im_ mortal by changing their cellular structure.

Hermione didn't want to create a Philosopher's Stone. Immortality was  _boring_. She wanted to be challenged - she wanted to transmute things that would hold weight, relevance, that would stay and not fade after the transfiguration wore off or was forced back to its original appearance.

Hence, combining the arithmetic structure of spells with transfiguration. It was a work in progress, but she was getting there. Sort of.

Barty and Regulus benefitted from Hermione's research, as their own academic interests began to branch out and vary into fields most ignored. Unfortunately, Hermione was certain that their abilities and interest in transmutation and more esoteric magic meant they were shiny baubles Voldemort was going to want, but… well… she'd get to that eventually.

Instead, they plied her and her research with books from their libraries, carefully snuck out over holidays, and she - well, she educated them by taking them into Muggle London, showing the the things science could do. It might not have been, but it was a kind of magic.

Their friendship worked.

That weekend, following her first (and hopefully,  _only_ ) tutoring session with James Potter, saw Hermione in that appropriated classroom, dutifully copying out a hand-drawn transmutation circle in her notebook with chalk on the classroom floor. In the center of the circle was a dead flower, picked by Regulus to give to Calypso Fawcett for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. When she turned him down, Hermione took the flower.

(Waste not.)

Regulus leaned against a desk that they had pushed up against a far wall, arms and legs crossed. Barty was seated cross-legged on top, next to him. Both were eyeing Hermione.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" drawled Regulus.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, a glare to her brown eyes. Luckily,  _those_  hadn't changed. She snapped her notebook, held open in one hand, shut with a loud  _snap_. "Yes," she replied snippily.

"Only," continued Regulus, "You said it would work the last time, and it didn't."

"And the one before that," added Barty helpfully. He had a sugar quill sticking out of the corner of his mouth, sucking on it hard.

"I made some adjustments on my calculations," replied Hermione hotly.

"Uh huh," said Regulus.

Hermione squared her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. "No one  _asked_  you to be here, Black." She made a waving motion with her hand. "Shoo. Begone."

"Nah," he said, leaning further back. "I'm looking forward to seeing you fail again."

"It's not  _failure_ ," snarled Hermione, "It's a  _learning experience_."

Barty didn't even try stifling his snickers.

Grumbling to herself, Hermione turned her back on her two friends. She carefully looked over the chalk circle on the floor. It was small, no longer than a dinner plate. The flower was on the inside of the circle, and there was another circle outside it, with a square between the two layers. In the gaps between the outer circle and the square were numerology markings - equations and symbols of power - that provided the basic molecular structure of the flower and its components.

She took a deep breath, and knelt in front of the transmutation circle. She used to be able to do tiny little parlour tricks like bringing flowers and small insects back to life when she was older, but she never got further in her research for more. This test - her sixth that first month back at Hogwarts - would determine if her magic was finally starting to settle.

From her understanding, most transmutation circles required to be planned out in advance. Hermione wanted to understand the  _theory_  behind it first and then - ideally - once she had that down, she could all on transmutation circles without pre-planning or marking them out in chalk. But that would come later.

Clapping her hands together until her palms touched, Hermione centered herself - pushing her annoyance at her friends away, at James Potter and tutoring him, pushing away her fears of failing again - and then slammed her hands flat on either side of the circle.

Her eyes opened and blazed with power.

The circle glowed white, and the wilted flower in the middle of the circle reversed from brown, brittle petals to blushing pink; its dull, grey stem turned healthy green and the sickly, cloying scent of rotting plants was replaced with the fresh scent of roses.

 _It worked_ , she thought breathlessly.

"Sweet Merlin!" gasped Barty, pushing up off the desk and kneeling next to her. Regulus carefully approached and, at her nod, reached into the circle and plucked the freshly-plucked flower from within, holding it and twirling it between his fingers.

He eyed it curiously for several moments, and then, turned to Hermione. He gave the most beautiful and sincere smile she had ever seen on him, and said, "Congratulations, Hermione."

"You know what this means, don't you?" said an eager Barty.

Hermione shook her head. "No, what?"

"You're going to change the world," he replied, beaming at her. She was painfully aware that once, he wore a similar expression when talking about his devotion to the Dark Lord. "And we're going to be right beside you."

Swallowing thickly, and pushing past the dangers that her memories were flinging at her, Hermione grinned. "Well, that's only if Potter doesn't want me tutoring anymore. Because I'm pretty sure if we have another tutoring session, it might just kill me."

"From what you said," began Regulus, standing up, still holding the flower. "It'll be unlikely."

"Well, he  _is_  a glutton for punishment," argued Barty, as Hermione brought her wand out and cast  _scourgify_  to erase the chalk. "After all, he's only confessed his love to Hermione's sister how many times now?"

With the chalk vanished, Hermione sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on her skirt. Regulus made a face at the action, but Hermione ignored it and said, "Well… in that case, he might want to take the punishment of dealing with me. But I'm not Lily - it'll be a waste of time. Honestly, he should just  _ask her_  for help."

"He wouldn't be able to get through a full sentence without an 'I love you,' somewhere," laughed Barty.

Hermione's lips twitched. "Too right."

Standing, she collected her book bag and joined the other two, leaving the classroom. Transmutation always made her hungry. "Kitchens?"

"Sure," agreed Barty happily for them both. He bounced beside her with nervous, vibrant energy. "Say, do you think you can show me your notes? I want to give that a try."

"No," replied Hermione at once, thinking of the incredibly damage Barty could potentially cause with knowledge of transmutation circles. She amended herself when she saw the crestfallen look on his face, "Not until you have your nonverbal spells down."

He pouted but nodded.

Regulus, on Hermione's other side, was strolling along with a hand in his pocket and the other, thoughtfully twirling the flower around and around. "Do you think I could try again with Calypso?"

"Not with the same flower," replied Hermione, "It would look tacky."

Regulus scoffed. "She'd never know."

The look Hermione sent back was scathing. " _Of course_  women will know-"

A large curtain of icy water crashed over Hermione, raining heavily down on her from above, in the middle of a nondescript hallway. Regulus and Barty immediately leaped sideways to avoid the water, and had cast an umbrella charm to keep the water from splashing up on them. Hermione, however, was  _drenched_.

She stood shock still, her shoulders up and her arms held away from her body, like a frozen statue as her brown hair heavily hung forward and her soaked Ravenclaw jumper and skirt clung to her body and thighs.

There was loud laughter in front of her, and she shakily pushed her lanky wet hair out from her eyes to stare at James and Sirius, who were supporting each other as they laughed, so hard they were nearly on the floor.

"L-Like I s-said, P-Padfoot!" hiccuped James, wheezing. "W-W-Wet nundu!"

Fourteen year old Hermione Evans felt like crying, standing there soaked while Barty began shouting something at the two in her defense and Regulus silently began casting warming charms - although that was going to fluff her hair up something terrible.

Four years. She had lasted four years without James Potter knowing who she was, without becoming a victim of his pranks. She wasn't even a blip on the Marauders radar.

Her impressive mind began to race. She had to fix this. And soon. Everything relied on her being invisible and unimportant. People took notice of who James Potter pranked. Whom he spoke to.

This wouldn't do.

At all.

* * *

**TBC...**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm heavily influenced by Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood for the transmutation circles.


	3. Take Control of Your Life

Yesterday is Today (everything is connected)  
THREE

* * *

 **Dirk:**  You've been making choices out of desperation for too long. Take control of your life, Todd. The minute you do, interesting things will happen.  
\- Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, "Horizons," 1x01 (2016)

* * *

Petunia spent all summer talking up Cokeworth Secondary, telling Lily how excited she was that the two Evans sisters would finally be at the same school again, and how when Hermione joined in a few short years, they would rule the school. Petunia had a grand idea of using her gossiping skills and charm to sweet-talk the staff; Lily's temper and idealism would detract any naysayers to the Evanses plans; and Hermione's shrewd attitude and manipulations would ensure those that  _did_  protest against the girls would come to swift, school-level ends.

It would be  _glorious_ , was Petunia's thoughts, her eyes star-riddled.

Then Lily's Hogwarts letter arrived.

And things were never quite the same, again.

* * *

In Petunia's mind - what Lily could do was… interesting. There was a potential there, for other…  _stuff_. She supposed, anyway (she wasn't fully sold on the 'magic' thing of it, truthfully. It was all so… flamboyant. Not refined, not at all). Petunia didn't so much mind magic the way she minded Severus Snape.

The strange, long-haired boy from Spinner's End, with his used clothing and dismissive attitude against her ( _her!_  Petunia seethed), solidified her dislike. Then he went and told Lily she could and should perform magic out in  _public_?  _Who does that_?

Lily was enchanted, the idiot. Someone just like her!

 _Hermione could do magic, too_ , Petunia thought, although unlike Lily who thought it was neat to animate flowers, Hermione kept her magic - or superhero abilities, again, Petunia wasn't sold on the idea - to a strict minimum of  _usefulness_. Like, cleaning their rooms. And putting the dishes away. And hiding the evidence of them gorging on junk food before dinner when their parents went out shopping, only to innocently say, in a very clean living room, "No, Mum, Da, we didn't even  _think_  about opening the snack drawer!"

Petunia didn't like the idea of Lily going away - they were supposed to  _stick together_! Go to the same school, meet boys, fall in love, get married and live near each other and start having kids at the same time so they grew up together. Petunia had it all planned out; and now Lily had to go and deviate from that plan? And if  _she_  got an invite to that Hogwarts school, so would Hermione.

Where did that leave her?

Alone, that's where.

So she wrote the Headmaster, Dumbledore, and asked to attend.

That stupid Snape boy - and  _Lily_  - how  _could she?_  - snuck into her room and read the man's reply, telling her that Hogwarts was for magicals, not  _muggles_  like her.

The rift that began to grow. It splintered on September first when Petunia and Hermione said goodbye to Lily in London; the young girl couldn't stop saying "Severus told me" and "Severus said that". When did that odious boy take Petunia's place as trusted, reliable, informative older sister? When had he stolen her best friend from her?

"You're a freak," slipped out that morning, in front of a solid, stone column at King's Cross.

Hurt blossomed in Lily's green eyes, and she protested, "I'm not a freak. That's a horrible thing to say!"

Even Hermione, standing at Petunia's side while their parents conversed a short distance away to give the girls' some last time together, turned judgmental eyes on her.

Hurt blossomed in Petunia, too, though, and she snapped, "But that's where you're going. A special school for freaks."

Their relationship - the one that had once been so close between the three sisters - splintered. It would never heal.

* * *

 _Four years_ , seethed Hermione, stabbing her roast beef with her fork.  _Four years I managed to keep away from the Marauders, minding my own business as the timeline managed itself_.

At her side, Barty had bypassed dinner entirely and was scouring the table for desserts - particularly sugary tarts, which were by far Hermione's favourite - and shoving them at her. The tart plates kept hitting and butting up against her dinner plate, but Hermione was so cheerfully stuck in her own head, she barely noticed. (Or it was likely she didn't see - once the drying charm was cast, her hair fluffed up, and resembled a poodle. It wasn't attractive, but it did mean that she had a wickedly fashionable perm for the 70s.)

"Honestly, who does he think he is?" Barty muttered lowly at her side, the other Ravenclaws giving them a very wide berth. "Merlin - I swear - the next time he even  _thinks_  about pointing his wand for a prank at you, I'm gonna… I'm gonna… scour his mouth out with a cleaning charm!"

"What a wonderful idea, Crouch," praised a feminine voice as the empty space on bench next to Hermione was taken by a familiar Gryffindor uniform. "I think I'll use that on Potter, myself."

Hermione glanced up and said, pointedly, "I'm over it," meeting her sister's vibrant emerald eyes.

"I'm not," retorted Lily, her Midlands accent flattening in her annoyance, as she held Hermione's brown eyes.

Hermione sighed. "It's not worth it, Lily. He pranks a lot of people."

"'A lot of people' aren't my sister," replied the redhead, and a staring match commenced.

Barty, bored now, began eating one of Hermione's tarts.

"Why did he even target you?" asked Lily finally, glancing away and absently looking across the hall and over the Hufflepuff table back towards Gryffindor. There, at the table, James Potter was valiantly trying to look cool although his eyes kept darting over to her, seated at the Ravenclaw table. His friends were trying to distract him, but it was obvious he was curious about her change of dinner seat.

Hermione shrugged.

Barty snorted, so Lily turned to him, causing Hermione to sigh. Lily and Barty did not get along. Regulus couldn't stand her, but his Slytherin friendship with Snape meant that he tolerated Lily for the older Slytherin's sake (which Hermione saw ending shortly, once this year was done). Barty, however, found Lily particularly idealistic which grated on him; Lily, in return, found Barty a bit too… maniacal for her tastes (Hermione had to admit that Barty did come off a bit strong).

Overall, Lily didn't like Hermione's friends, and Hermione didn't like hers. Sort of, anyway - Hermione preferred to be far, far away from Lily's friends - beyond Snape, that included Marlene McKinnon and Mary MacDonald in Gryffindor with her.

So when Lily and Barty began to politely speak, Hermione quickly looked up at the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall to see if the world was ending in fire and brimstone.

"Hermione's tutoring him in Arithmancy," answered Barty, absently licking flaky pastry stuck to his finger.

"How's that a cause for a prank?" asked Lily, in confusion. She turned back to her sister. "He's never targeted you before. I would've noticed."

Hermione shifted uneasily on the bench. "I may have… erm… been a bit rude."

Barty snorted again and Hermione shot him a nasty look, wondering,  _maybe a trip to Madam Pomfrey to clear your sinuses is imminent, my friend…_

"Rude?" Lily's eyes were wide. " _You?_  Hermy, love, you're a sweetheart."

Hermione blanched and neatly sidestepped the point Lily was making. "God, don't call me that, Lily. Ugh. That's worse than Mia, honestly. I have a perfectly good name, can we just use that?"

"Hermy!" chortled Barty beside her.

Scowling, Hermione elbowed him painfully in the side and he wheezed painfully, leaning over the table and placing his head onto a free spot of wood. "Bad Barty.  _No._ "

Lily's face was a picture of innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, 'Mione." The redhead shook her head. "Anyway - so you were a bit rude during a tutoring session. It's Potter - I lose my temper on him on a regular basis. He doesn't prank  _me_."

Hermione and Barty stared at Lily, until she blushed, the flush in her cheeks painfully clashing with her hair. She then looked away, fiddling with a loose thread on her Gryffindor jumper. "Ah, yes - erm, right. Never mind."

"At least you're aware," muttered Hermione under her breath. She cleared her throat and spoke louder. "Look, Lily - honestly? It's fine. It was a stupid prank but it meant nothing. I'm not going to tutor Potter anymore in Arithmancy; I only did it because Pythas asked me to, and now I can honestly go back and say that we won't work well together."

"Is he going to penalize you, though?" asked Lily with wide eyes. The thought of not obeying a professor was rancid to her, and her palms began to sweat with nerves.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Penalize me against taking my NEWT in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes next year? Please. It doesn't just look good on my transcripts, you know - it makes Pythas and Janulus look great as educators. They won't take that away."

"Well. If you say so."

"I do," replied Hermione evenly, much of her temper cooled. Being on Potter's radar was definitely not good - because if  _he_  noticed her, so did Sirius, Remus, and Peter - and it meant that Hermione's plan of being rather invisible from those she knew Before was in jeopardy. She didn't want Dumbledore looking too closely at her; she didn't want to be brought in to her sister's circle. Hermione was quite happy where she was, thank you very much.

(And if she conveniently had no idea where she was, and where she was going - well, she could lie to herself, too.)

Lily hummed noncommittally, playing with a fork on the table. "Alright then. Anyway - I got a letter from Mum and Da, and they mentioned you hadn't written. So. Write them. Or something - you've always been kind of bad about that. I'm sending a letter tomorrow night, if you want to send something along with Jackie O."

Hermione shook her head at the stupid name Lily gave her owl -- whose ruffled head feathers made it look like it was wearing a fashionable Jackie O Kennedy cap -- when their parents finally allowed her a pet. "You and your owl, I swear. Yeah, I'll have something. Thanks for stopping by, Lils."

Lily grinned widely at the use of the childhood nickname that Hermione and Petunia used for her, and leaned over to tightly hug her sister, who predictably whined and squirmed. "Love you," Lily murmured against Hermione's poofy dark auburn curls.

Hermione sighed, stilled, and whispered, "Love you, too," back to her sister, who radiated contentment.

Lily then let go and wriggled her fingers in a goodbye wave, nodding her goodbye to Barty, who stared at her while stuffing his mouth with another pastry; she then walked around the Hufflepuff table to sit with her friends at Gryffindor, completely ignoring Potter who leaned across the table, running a hand through his hair and make it more windswept as he tried to speak with her.

And, by the time dinner was over, Lily had scoured Potter's mouth with a cleaning charm.

It made Hermione's night.

* * *

Barty was never going to understand transmutation, Hermione decided closer to Halloween, as she watched him attempt to cast nonverbally, his face growing red in frustration.

They were in her practice classroom, with Hermione taking a break from her transmutation circles to help her best friend work his way through the first year curriculum nonverbally. Regulus was at Quidditch practice, leaving Hermione to give Barty her undivided attention - which he liked.

But his feather failed to float off the desk in front of him.

He let out an explosive shout and flung his wand from his hand. It hit the far wall and then skittered back across the flagstone floor where it rolled to a rest. Hermione watched silently.

"I'm never going to get it!" snapped Barty, breathing heavily.

Hermione, arms crossed, shook her head. "Not with that attitude," she replied, her voice soft. Getting angry at Barty or calling him out often led to his magic snapping back - it made him feel like he was at home.

"Just because you're a magical prodigy doesn't mean the rest of us are!" snapped Barty, whirling around to face his friend. "Just admit I'm useless, will you?"

Hermione dropped her arms. "You're  _not_  useless. At all. And I don't want to hear you call yourself that ever again. I'm just lucky that I  _get_  magic, Barty. That's why I can cast nonverbally."  _And because I'm damn old compared to everyone else here, and went through this already, but… well… I'm not going to tell anyone that_.

"Then why aren't I getting it, Hermione?" he whined, staring at the floor. "It's a stupid  _wingardium leviosa_."

Hermione stepped forward and, coming to Barty's side, gave him an awkwardly-angled hug. His tense frame softened and he reached up to lay a hand overtop her arm, stretched across his chest. "Remember that feeling when you said the spell back in first year? How you visualized the feather floating? The magic inside you swirling about and eager to do what you wanted?"

Barty breathed deeply. The fourteen year old, all gangly arms and legs, nodded and let go of Hermione's arm with his right hand to summon his wand back - that, he could do. His wand slapped into his waiting palm, and with Hermione still attached to his side, he felt himself calm.

"I'll try," he muttered.

Hermione chuckled into his shoulder - where she barely reached. "Do or do not, Barty - there is no try."

He frowned. "Really? That's terrible advice. Else your own 'learning experiences' would be classed as 'do nots.'"

"Shut up, I never said it was a perfect quote," replied Hermione, grinning into the shoulder.  _Sorry, Yoda. We're a few years too early and already you're being taken to task._

"Whatever," muttered Barty, and then, with his eyes closed, he pointed his wand at the feather, and let his wrist roll in the familiar motion as he thought,  _wingardium leviosa_. He felt his magic swirl down his arm and into his wand, and in his mind he saw exactly what he wanted: his feather floating gently up and hovering in the air in front of him.

"Open your eyes, Barty."

He did, and there, exactly how he imagined it, was his feather floating. He turned and grinned at Hermione, who beamed back up at him.

He let the magic dissipate, and swept his friend into a hug, swinging her around in his glee.  _He did it!_  He thought, a grin stretching across his face.  _Because Hermione believed in him!_

"One spell down, about three hundred to go!" he crowed.

Hermione laughed.

Later, when they took a break, Barty turned to her and asked, "Be honest. Do you think I'll ever be able to do transmutations like you?"

Hermione frowned, looking down at her hands. She sat on top of the desk Barty had used when she cracked her transmutation circle, her legs swinging off and heels hitting the wooden frame, while Barty sat next to her, cross-legged.

"Probably not," she admitted. "Your moods jump too much. Transmutation needs to be carefully thought out in the moment of preparation and casting. You're brilliant, Barty, and can understand the theory, but the practice might be too much for you. However - nonverbal casting as a fourth year when we only learn about it in sixth? That's definitely going to be your strength."

Barty ducked his head shyly, preening under the compliment even if she was being realistic.

They sat together a bit longer, before Hermione sighed and slipped off the desk. "Anyway, I was going to go to the library."

Barty nodded. "I'll see you back in the common room. Don't be out too late."

"Worried I'll cost us points?" she grinned, bending to scoop up her school bag and loop it over her shoulder.

"No," said Barty, rolling his eyes, unfolding his legs and standing as well. "I know you don't get caught. I just mean with Potter and his friends out roaming. Be careful."

Hermione nodded, said her goodbyes, and headed for the library. She wanted some time to go over her transmutation notes and maybe check out a book or two. Upon reaching the library, she dumped her bag on her usual seat, the tiny alcove hidden nook she claimed as hers, and then went in search for her books. Both were Alchemical in nature, one written by Flamel himself, but Hermione wasn't too interested in the  _content_  - she was interested in what wasn't said.

Her transmutation circles were coming quicker - it wasn't difficult for her to plan the circles out in advance anymore - but rather, the difficulty lay in the objects she wanted to transmute. She needed to understand their molecular structure, and she wanted to know  _why_  when such a thing like magic existed.

She was halfway through taking notes on one book when a body slammed into the chair opposite her. She startled, and her eyes darted up, even as a line of smeared ink went across her page.

" _Potter?"_

James Potter stared back, his lips pressed in a thin line across his face. There was something hard in the fifteen-year-old's expression that Hermione hadn't quite expected to see; and worse, it reminded her of a very serious Harry, about to say something she wouldn't be excited to hear, at all. It reminded her of the night of their OWLs, when he was sure Sirius was being tortured by Voldemort.

"Evans," the teen replied, his voice flat.

Hermione made a show of looking around the library in confusion. "There are other free tables, Potter. What are you doing at mine?"

James carefully folded his hands on top of the desk, but she could see that his wand was out and resting along the woodgrain. He then leaned forward, just the tiniest bit, and his nose twitched - once. There was a struggle, and eventually he said, through gritted teeth, "We had an Arithmancy test just this week. I got it back today."

Hermione felt wariness creep up her spine. She leaned back a bit in her seat. "Oh?"

He nodded, misery etched into his face for a moment. "I failed the test. And Pythas owled my mother my results. She sent a Howler to me this morning."

Hermione thought back to breakfast - she had heard of some commotion over at the Gryffindor table, but in all honesty, she was too busy rereading her notes and doing some light reading in an advanced Ancient Runes book she coerced - erm,  _nicely asked_  - Professor Janulus to lend her. She hadn't been paying attention.

"What does this have to do with me?" Hermione asked pointedly.

The black-haired teen sighed heavily and then reached up with his wand-free hand, and ran it through his hair. Hermione tensed. "I may have told my mum that I was still taking tutoring sessions and she learned I lied about it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed into slits. " _Annnnnd_?"

James squirmed in his seat. "Annnnd," he mimicked the drawn-out word, although with much less hostility that she emphasized, "I would really like to take up our tutoring sessions, again."

When that failed to move her, he gave a small, wobbly smile. "Honestly. I swear. Marauder's honour."

Hermione snorted.  _Marauder's honour, my arse. There's a reason why "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," was their password_.  _Still…_

"Every Friday, seven on the dot," said Hermione suddenly, startling James Potter. "And you need to come prepared - like, read the chapter ahead, sort of thing.  _And_ ," she emphasized, " _No_  asking about my sister. These two hours are for your academics and school alone."

James narrowed his eyes back. "So you're saying that outside of the two hours I can ask about Lily?"

Hermione groaned.

* * *

Their next tutoring session was a bit of a mess.

James Potter came prepared - he had read that upcoming week's chapter, even taken notes in the margin of the text - but… well…

Hermione stared at the chicken scrawl - nothing worse than Harry's, honestly, but maybe it was a Potter thing? - and tried to make sense of the leaps in logic James took to get to the bottom of some of the answers in the text.

"Potter-" began Hermione, staring at the paper, and then cutting herself off. She cleared her throat and tried again. "James. How did you pass the last two years in Arithmancy at all?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair on the two back legs. "Third year wasn't too bad. And then in fourth, Padfoot - Sirius - mostly helped."

"I, uh, I just," Hermione trailed off. "Do… do you even  _know_  what Arithmancy is used for?"

He shrugged.

"Potter - James - it's just math," stuttered Hermione, astounded by his lack of care. "I mean, some people use Arithmancy for Divination, because it's probability and statistics, but you can use it for a lot of other things."

"Like what?" he asked, but sounded bored. He wasn't even looking at her - he was looking at the ceiling! Hermione stared in incomprehension, disbelief bubbling in her stomach.

"I…" she floundered, physically looking around like an answer would come to her. Nothing came to mind; she was in the library, on a Friday night, with james Potter, trying to get him to understand the value of math. It was clear he'd rather be anywhere but with her - probably thinking about the upcoming Quidditch match Gryffindor had with Ravenclaw -

 _Eureka!_  Thought Hermione, grinning.  _Quidditch!_

"Okay, look," said Hermione, leaning forward and grabbing her quill and a spare piece of parchment. "Arithmancy is in… like, everything. Every spell, every piece of magic, everything we do, can be broken down to the smallest bit of mathematical equation."

He was looking at her now, although from the bottom of his lenses, as they slipped down his nose. He was still leaning back in the chair.

"Spells are magical, they really are," continued Hermione, enthusiastically as she sketched things on the paper, "But they're also scientific. We can understand how a spell works because we break it down into wand movements and nonverbal commands; then, verbal commands as cues and phrases. Those movements and phrases have  _meaning_ , have weight. Arithmancy calculates that weight and helps us understand the strength of a spell, how it would mingle when cast against another, distance until it hits something, things like that."

She looked up. "Have you ever wondered what would happen if you cast  _stupefy_  and it never hit anything? Would it just go on and on and on and on forever until it did?"

Curiosity was in James' eyes, and he let the chair fall onto all four legs. "Not really, no…"

"What about Quidditch?" pressed Hermione, finishing her equations. "Do you not think it's strange that Quidditch players just fly around and hope for the best? What if you didn't have the plans you had? Do those plans change your teams' abilities and strengths on the pitch, leading to better results?"

He was leaning forward. "Plans do help - but it's not easy keeping to them when there are so many variables when you're playing and need to make split-second decisions."

"Of course," agreed Hermione, a small smile curling her lips upward. She slid the paper towards him. "But say - if you broke every player down into a variable in an equation - and you had a goal of how many points you wanted to score or how long you wanted the game to be played before your Seeker caught the Snitch - if you broke it into an equation, an  _Arithmancy_  equation, what do you think would happen?"

The teen's hazel eyes glanced down at the paper, and he looked over the markings Hermione had quickly scribbled with her quill. She even had a legend on the side:

a = Potter  
b = Black  
c & d = Prewitt

And so forth, for the other players on the Gryffindor team; she had done so for the Ravenclaw team as well, and written in an equation where the Gryffindor team (all a through g for the seven players; and then u through z were Ravenclaw), and then substituted letters for the snitch, the quaffle, and the bludgers; wind speed; temperature; playing conditions based on the players' eating breakfast or not, and a end-score of 420 for Gryffindor, which would put them comfortably ahead for the Quidditch Cup.

James didn't quite understand it, but…

"You'd only have to play for approximately two hours before Blythe Parkin catches the Snitch," explained Hermione, tapping a portion of the long-stringed equation. "To combat Ravenclaw - who overthinks its plays - you just need to get into their heads; be confident; psyche them out in plays with evasive maneouvers. Keep them busy."

James looked up from the parchment, eyes narrowed. "Arithmancy can do something like this?"

Hermione gave a shrug, bringing her hand back close to her body and then went to inspect the nails, as nonchalantly as possible. "And more."

James hummed, and took the parchment, tucking it into his bag. "We'll see."

Hermione took the words graciously, and then began a review of the major equations learned back in third year to test Potter's memory and understanding of the theory. The two hours passed quickly, and they went their separate ways.

* * *

A week later, Gryffindor smashed Ravenclaw with 420 - 60 in their favour, with Parkins catching the Snitch two hours and three minutes into the game.

And Hermione, despite her house's terrible loss, stood in the stands with her groaning blue-and-bronze housemates around her, and smiled.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blythe Parkins is a Seeker for the English National Team, and apparently is born sometime before 1977. So. On the Gryffindor Quidditch team in 1965.


	4. Choose the Path

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

IV

* * *

 **John Rittenhouse** : My father says peasants are like the hands of a clock, round and round they go.

 **Lucy Preston** : What does that mean?

 **John** : A peasant is no more capable of choosing his own path than the hands of a clock.

 **Lucy** : Who chooses the path for them?

 **John** : The clockmaker, of course.

\- Timeless, 01x10, "The Capture of Benedict Arnold"

* * *

"Now, don't be afraid," cautioned Lily, directing Hermione through the throng of Hogwarts students and their parents seeing their children off for the school year. Hermione indulgently allowed Lily to maneuver her away from certain students and between school trunks on trolleys, unaware that Hermione had far more experience of the pre-Hogwarts rush than she did.

"I'm not afraid," said Hermione in response, her voice strong and confident.

"Good," her elder sister grinned. They shared a warm glance between two siblings, and then her green eyes had strayed. "Oh, look, there's Sev!"

Hermione swallowed thickly. Severus Snape remained a sore point for her; her knowledge of the bitter man he would become was stymied by the information she had on all that he did and the life he gave up to be a spy. Even Snape at twelve was snarky and had a mean streak that rivaled Petunia's. However, Hermione would never forgive him for his thoughtless comment of "I see no difference."

Even if it was yet to happen.

Or wouldn't happen - she shook her head. Time travel and verb tenses were hellish.

Hermione allowed Lily to shuffle her onto the train and into a compartment that she and Severus had commandeered for the trip. Hermione eased onto the plush red of the seat, and curiously looked through the window to the sea of students as they finished their goodbyes and eagerly found their friends. An explosion further down the train and loud laughter made Hermione's lips twitch in remembrance of Fred and George, but Severus, sitting across from her, groaned and slouched down the seat.

She glanced at him and then Lily, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Lily scowled. "It's that stupid James Potter and Sirius Black."

"Your housemates?" asked Hermione, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, troublemakers, the lot of them!" the redhead huffed. "They tease and bully  _everyone_! And absolutely hate the Slytherins."

Hermione turned to Severus, whose scowl was reaching his future self's epic proportions. "Like you, Severus?" she inquired innocently.

He slouched further, two blots of red high on his pale cheeks.

"You'll want to stay out of their way, Hermione," lectured Lily. "They don't prank me as badly as the others, but it's a free-for-all with those boys. Honestly! I don't know why Remus goes along with it."

 _Because he's afraid they'll abandon him_ , answered Hermione mentally, turning away from Lily as she and Severus began discussing the upcoming school year and their classes, including which electives they would choose for their third year.

Hermione tuned it out. She accepted that she was somehow stuck in the past; that somehow, she had been reborn into the Evans family. Over the years, once she had pushed past the horrible denial that something like this could happen to her, she began to come to terms with her situation and even grew to love her new family. Leo and Rose had far more time for their daughters than Hermione's own original birth parents Richard and Miranda had; Leo and Rose were happy with whatever their children decided, whether it was Petunia excelling in home economics or Lily and Hermione being witches.

Of course, there was a part of Hermione that felt morally responsible for stopping Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but…  _I've already done that_ , she would remind herself. She would help here or there, but this Hermione, her in the now, only wanted to continue her research, keep her head down for as long as possible, and potentially clean house once 1981 drew to a close.

If her research could potentially help the Order of the Phoenix or stop Death Eaters, then - it was a coincidence, really (and if that meant ignoring the morality of letting her sister die… well, she was working on it - but what 'it' was, was up in the air. Would she save Lily? Would she raise Harry as her own? Hermione didn't know; what if she changed things too much? Or worse -  _what if nothing changed at all_?).

But she didn't want to involve herself further until necessary. Lily, she interacted with because she was her sister; and Severus was Lily's friend ( _for now,_  she reminded herself, already mentally counting down to her sister's OWLs). If she could avoid those she knew and interacted with in the future - like Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, the Weasleys, or other Order members - then she would be happy. But that meant no Gryffindor.

It would mean not watching Lily and James eventually fall in love; it would mean never helping Remus after a terrible full moon, bringing him chocolate; it would mean never sitting next to a moody, bitter Sirius as his family continued to tear him down. It meant no Weasley jumpers at Christmas, no war stories from Alastor Moody and no pig snouts from Tonks.

It would be lonely.

 _No different than before_ , Hermione thought to herself.  _I managed for years before Hogwarts in my past life, and I managed years before here too._

Eventually, Severus ended up with some Slytherin friends and Lily had a chinwag with the other Gryffindor girls in her dorm, the names only recognizable to Hermione due to their membership to the Order of the Phoenix and their memorable, gruesome deaths.

Hermione was alone, and truthfully - that was how she liked it.

* * *

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted, and Hermione Granger, now Hermione Evans, joined the politely applauding table. Her nondescript Hogwarts tie changed to reflect the Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze, and she slid demurely onto the bench somewhere in the middle of the table.

Around her, her year mates and housemates were engrossed in the Sorting, or clandestinely reading large books on their laps.

 _Yes_ , thought Hermione looking around,  _I'm going to disappear perfectly._

* * *

Hermione's explanation of arithmancy to be used alongside practical applications like Quidditch revitalized James Potter, and soon, he became a Friday night fixture at her tiny table in the library. The side effects of his new-found interest in the field of math were both positive and negative: positive because Hermione had the opportunity to see someone else begin to  _enjoy_  math and find a use for it, and negative because it meant she was no longer invisible.

The first few weeks of their study sessions were peaceful: Hermione would coax James through the third-year material, quizzing him on the foundations of calculus and probability statistics, and then bring in the arithmetic formulas from their Hogwarts classes. The additional non-magical material of higher maths provided James with a stronger grasp of the material, and soon they were on the fourth year revision material.

That's when Sirius joined them.

At fifteen, Sirius was  _not_  the same man Hermione came to know in the future. That Sirius was broody, prone to explode in a terrible temper at the drop of a wrong word or condescending tone; his eye would flash and his bark was just as terrible as his bite. That man was stifled energy looking for an outlet.

 _This_  Sirius was loud, charismatic, eager to please, but also easily bored and unknowingly cruel. His first night, after sniffing them out - almost literally, as with the increased use of their nicknames, Hermione was sure they had recently become animagi - he spent almost their entire two hours wheedling James to join him outside for an illegal broom race, or planting dungbombs in the dungeons, or help him chat up a sixth-year Hufflepuff, or, or, or.

Hermione felt her annoyance at the handsome teen grow the longer he remained hovering over James's shoulders. It reached a peak by the time he flung himself in the only other free chair at her table, in between the two of them.

"C'mon, Jimmie-boy," whined Sirius, leaning forward, eyes scanning the revised quiz Hermione mocked up for James, "Let's go, yeah? Moony and Wormtail are waiting for us. We've got that thing - the  _you-know-what_ ," he dropped his voice to a conspiratory whisper, which missed the mark with Hermione sitting right there, able to hear every word, "so we can go to the  _you-know-where_. And then maybe finish up with a trip to the kitchens. Whaddya say, mate?"

James looked absolutely torn. His hazel eyes kept glancing at Sirius, who was intently focused on his best friend's face, like a dog staring down its prey, while James quickly slid them to Hermione. For her part, Hermione thought she absolutely looked unaffected, calmly sitting there without a care if Potter went off to do some Marauder shenanigans.

In reality, Hermione had a very red flush to her cheeks. Her dark whiskey coloured eyes were flashing a strange lighter hue that reminded James vaguely of Remus, but he knew that Hermione was no werewolf. The quill in her hand was almost vibrating with near intensity, and the fingers gripping it was a pale white from stress and tension.

Hermione Evans was one word away from a complete blowout, even if she didn't know it.

But, James knew it.

And from the wicked glint in Sirius's eyes, he knew it too. And was ready to give the brunette that extra push.

Sirius's grey eyes turned to Hermione then, and James watched in horrified fascination, like a miss-cast spell decimating an entire class and turning it into a tragedy. With a flick up and down what he could see of the fourteen-year-old's body sitting at the table, Sirius was dismissive and turned back to James, saying, "If you needed help in Arithmancy, mate, you just had to ask. You don't need this walking library to help you. Who'd want to spend their Fridays here, anyway? She's not much to look at." He paused and leered at Hermione. " _Yet_ , anyway."

" _Excuse me_?" Hermione's voice was frosty.

"You heard me, sweetheart," replied Sirius. "You're just a tiny thing, aren't you? Full of-" he paused and looked up. " _Hair_."

Hermione stared at Sirius in complete and utter disbelief - in fact, it was like the entire world  _paused_  for that moment, and at that moment, Hermione was able to put to words everything she was contemplating, debating.

There was no other reason for what she did next. Other than Sirius, whom she knew well and dearly, had always been able to push her buttons with an exact precision that rivaled Ron at his cruelest. But it was then, with his flippant comment, fully intended to see what Hermione was capable of, that made Hermione think:  _fuck the timeline_.

And then she drew back her left hand, free of her quill, and slammed directly into Sirius's cheek, socking him so hard that he collapsed in surprise against the table, catching it with the flat of his palms, which made a loud  _smack_.

The library, which was quiet but had a present, low hum of conversation, disappeared like someone had cast  _Silencio_  over the entire area. Hermione could feel the weight of stares on her - she was no longer invisible.

Sirius moaned against the table, sliding down against it until his back was once more against his seat. A hand was pressed to his jaw, and he stared at Hermione with wide grey eyes. James, with wide eyes of his own, was hovering over Sirius and glancing back and forth between his best friend and his tutor.

Hermione scowled deeply at the teen, and snapped, "' _Though she be but little, she is fierce_ '!" With that said, she wandlessly summoned her parchment and quills with a wave of her hand - ignoring that such a feat by a fourteen year made both Sirius and James's eyebrows shoot upwards - then shove everything in her bag, stomping out of the library, her sanctum, now and forever lost due to her tutoring of James Potter.

She  _knew_  it had been a mistake!

* * *

"Did she -," started Sirius, rubbing his hand along his jaw, which was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, "Did she just punch me in the face and then quote Shakespeare before flouncing away?"

James, eyes stuck on the retreating figure of his crush's sister, nodded absently. "Yeah, Padfoot, I think she did."

Sirius turned to James and announced, "I think I'm in love."

Horrified, James couldn't think of a reply.

* * *

The path to the Room of Requirement was clear, and Hermione took full advantage to stomp her Mary Janes hard on the stone, to vent some of her anger.

 _How dare he? Who does he think he is?_ She spat angrily in her mind, feeling her magic swell and spark along her fingertips in response.  _A tiny thing full of hair, said he. I'll show him tiny, alright!_

She had been so careful; so sure of her new life and being invisible that she would never draw the eye of the Marauders. Even after she began tutoring James Potter, his friends had let her be - minus that terribly annoying prank James and Sirius did after the first disastrous tutoring session - and Hermione had breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't changing any timelines (maybe James needed Arithmancy help in the previous timeline?), she wasn't upsetting any relationship dynamics beyond the ones she was already involved in (her professors, her new family, Barty, and Regulus), and for the most part, everything seemed to be on track to what was going to be a horrible guerilla civil war in just three years' time.

See? Perfect. Everything was going the way it should.

Hermione paced in front of the blank wall where the Room of Requirement's door would appear, and then, once it bled into existence, she dove for the handle and yanked it open, storming in without realizing the interior. It wasn't until she was several steps in that she recognized the location.

"You have  _got_  to be  _kidding_  me!"

Although it wasn't as doom and gloom as it used to be, the dark panelled walls and dark hardwood floor was familiar enough from spending most of her teen summers at Grimmauld Place. Harry had cleaned the ancestral Black home up as a project after the war during his Auror training, modernizing what he could and repainting anything else. Gone were the spiderwebs and house elf heads, as well as the creepy Black family portraits that hissed insults as you walked by.

While it would never be "light and airy," the changes Harry had made to Grimmauld place made it appear more Edwardian: heavy and dark wallpaper, dark panels, dark floors, crown moulding, and brilliant hanging chandeliers in many rooms, as well as an overabundance of fireplaces and - with Hermione's insistence - squishy armchairs.

Harry was in one of those squishy armchairs in the library, his ankle crossed over his knee and his fingers laced together under his chin as he watched her enter the room from behind his glasses. Except, Harry was not the forty-year-old man Hermione knew him as before she "died," as his hair wasn't salt-and-pepper, he wasn't wearing the fine tailored Head Auror robes, or carry himself with the ease of a man who knew himself and his place in the world, finally.

No, Hermione knew that the Room chose a Harry she could relate to best in her new existence, as the Harry in the armchair, sitting comfortably  _like_  his older self in confidence, was the scrawny fourteen-year-old she knew who was troubled by his inclusion in the TriWizard Tournament. Despite his comfy seat, Hermione could see the foundation of  _her_  Harry, in the hunch of his shoulders, in the wary gaze he cast her as she entered, the skinny arms and pointy elbows underneath oversized clothes.

"Harry," greeted Hermione through gritted teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help, Hermione," the Room-provided Harry replied back, his tone open and friendly in comparison to hers.

"Help how?"

Harry shrugged. "You seem to be having trouble reconciling your place in this new timeline."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, now  _that_  would give it away that you're not Harry; he never used the word 'reconcile' in his life."

Not-Harry grinned.

Hermione sighed and sat in the other armchair, perpendicular to his. "I shouldn't be here, Harry."

"Who's to say that?" he replied.

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," began not-Harry, a distinct bossy tone to his voice that was more reminiscent of her than him, "How do you know that you were not meant to be here? How do you know that you were  _never_  meant to be here?"

Hermione's frown deepened. "Are you suggesting that me growing up in our time was the wrong one?"

Harry grinned, impishly.

"Oh, come on!" moaned Hermione. "You come in here, you don't help me, tell me that the entire  _belief_  of my existence in this time is wrong…! You-you claim to be a creation of my mind and yet you don't even provide me with a logical answer!"

"Hermione," said Harry in an extremely patronizing way, looking over the rim of his glasses at her, "Your subconscious mind knows that I would never do or say that. The Harry you knew was emotional and jumped to conclusions - I rarely followed things through  _logically_."

Hermione stared at Harry. "You are the worst room construct,  _ever_."

Not-Harry grinned, a wide, toothy smile.

They sat in silence while Hermione came down from her rage-induced response from hitting Sirius, until she sighed, long and deep, and snuggled deeper into the chair.

"Do you feel better now?" asked Harry, after minutes had gone by.

Hermione nodded, then asked, "What did you mean - about me not knowing whether I was always meant to be here or not?"

"Well, in time travel, like what we did in our third year," began Harry carefully, thinking his words out, "We existed in two places at once, and the things we did in the past reflected our knowledge of the present. For example, we never  _saw_  Buckbeak get executed and because of that, we could change things accordingly to save him. I  _thought_  I saw my father save us, but in reality, I saw  _me_  save us that night with the Patronus."

"And?" groused Hermione.

"There were always two of us in the same physical space. And we didn't actually change anything that hadn't already been changed - like a loop," explained Harry patiently. "But now - you're not just  _back in time_ , Hermione. You're not existing outside of those living their day-to-day.  _You're actually in the past as part of it._ "

"Your point?"

"Hermione, you don't need to worry about changing things or keeping things the same," said Harry, a gentle tone to his voice. "You're here. You actually belong; you were reborn as part of the Evans family, and are now existing alongside my mother and aunt, as well as my father and his friends. You are not an interloper in this time, afraid that one touch will stop you from returning and creating a paradox. You are part of this time, woven into its very fabric."

He stopped, and then his green eyes pierced her. "But you knew this already."

Hermione turned away, slightly shame-faced.

"How do you figure?" she mumbled.

"Well, I don't exist, not really," replied Harry matter-of-factly. "I am and respond in a way that your subconscious tells you that I would react! So, really these thoughts were yours."

Hermione stared at Harry in stupefied horror.

"Oh,  _Merlin_!" she breathed. "I'm arguing with myself about my place in this timeline if only to assuage my own guilt—it's literally me or me. I really am a know-it-all, aren't I?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

"Hermione, if you want me to say 'stop being selfish and  _do_  something with your life and the opportunities afforded,' I will tell you that," said Harry gently. "But if you also want me to say 'keep your head down, girl, don't you know the world will end?' I can do that too."

"That's me saying that to me, Harry," blinked Hermione. "Angel me versus Devil me."

"Is it?"

Hermione let out a sound of frustration. " _Uuuggghhhhh_."

"Hermione," sighed Harry, "Answer me this: are you happy?"

"Am I happy, what kind of question is that?" snapped Hermione. "Are we talking about a definitive state? An emotive  _moment_  in time? Overall?"

"All, any, both."

Hermione frowned. "Then  _no_ , of course not, Harry. No, I'm  _not_  happy. I haven't been happy for some time. I haven't been happy at work before I died and ended up here; I wasn't happy with where my experiments were going. I wasn't happy with being  _reborn into your mother's side of the family, you little toerag_ -"

"I get it," replied a slightly worried Harry. "You weren't happy. When  _are_  you happy?"

Hermione snapped her mouth shut and honestly thought about the question. When was she happy? She was happy with she saw Barty successfully cast his spell nonverbally. She was happy when James  _understood_  the point of Arithmancy. She was happy when she heard the satisfying sound Sirius' cheek made when her hand connected to it. She was even happy in the summer, spending time with Petunia and Lily.

She was… kind of happy in this time.

"Huh."

Hermione spied Harry's rather smug face, and then sighed, "Okay, but you're a figment of my imagination, so just telling me what I need to know to make myself feel justified seems a bit circular."

Harry's smile stretched into a genuine one. "Does it matter if it works?"

"If I change things…" she warned, slowly, "It could be worse."

"It could be better," he countered.

"It won't be easy," she tried again.

"When is it ever?" retorted Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Then she sighed, but it wasn't a tired sound, or unhappy. "Okay, Harry. You win." There was a small smile on her lips. "Let's go change the world as we know it. I'll decide my own path from now on."

* * *

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakespeare quote is from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, scene 2. Hermione's conversation with Harry mimics the conversation that Dr. McKay has with his hallucination of Sam Carter in Stargate: Atlantis.
> 
> Also, no, this is not a Sirius/Hermione story. At all. Endgame James and Hermione. Promise.


	5. Exile and Friendly Smiles

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

V

* * *

"If you've ever been homesick, or felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined you, you'll know how important welcoming words and friendly smiles can be."

\- _11/22/63_ , Stephen King

* * *

After her rather confusing talk with herself-disguised-as-Harry in the Room of Requirements, Hermione returned to the Ravenclaw Common Room, waving off Barty's concerned looks and calls of her name as she trudged up the tower until she flopped on her bed in the fourth year dormitory.

Philosophical debate aside, Hermione's existence in the past  _was_  unlike her previous journey into the past with Harry and the instance of her time turner. There, two versions of her existed; did this kind of magic imply that by September 1979,  _another_  Hermione would be born? Or was Granger-Hermione suddenly nonexistent?

What did that mean in terms of paradoxes? If Granger-Hermione failed to exist, did that mean there wasn't going to be an Evans-Hermione? That there had  _never been_  an Evans-Hermione? But if there hadn't been an Evans-Hermione ever, then could there have been a Granger-Hermione, to begin with to get transported back in time…?

Hermione's face pinched as a vicious headache bloomed across her forehead. She moaned, although her pillow muffled it and her face sunk into the feathery marshmallow. Luckily, the dorm was empty, many of her fellow classmates and roommates having much better things to do on a Friday night, especially one before a Hogsmeade weekend.

With any luck, the rumours that would no doubt be flying around Hogwarts of her punching Sirius Black will be overtaken by something that someone would do while at Hogsmeade, or by a rather embarrassing attempt of Potter's on asking Lily out, once again.

No one would remember silly Hermione Evans and her suckerpunching Sirius Black, flouncing away via Shakespeare quote.

 _At least_ , she thought, _I hope not_.

* * *

Hermione was early up on that Saturday morning. She was dressed in her civvies, cast-offs of Petunia and Lily's that Hermione thought was similar enough to her comfort-zone of fashion ranging from the 90s to 10s, which also didn't include polyester pantsuits, bell bottoms, or pastel. While Petunia preferred what Hermione called "sophisticated housewife" in blouses and knee-length skirts that reminded her more of a 50s Stepford, Lily was the flower child in Bohemian tassels and blouses, suede skirts and wide-leg trousers or rustic-inspired dresses.

Hermione was neither, opting for the comfort of knee-length skirts, with knee socks and sweaters overtop that reminded her of her original Hogwarts uniform (the skirt lengths were  _much_  longer in the 70s, she had noted immediately); or wide-leg trousers with smart, crisp blouses tucked into the high waists; or the not-quite-there-yet popularity of glam punk with her tight black jeans and flannel shirts - her hair certainly fit in with its wild, riotous curls that could either be disco perm or glamorous mane.

Hoping to do as she usually did during Hogsmeade weekends, Hermione dressed in comfortable jeans and flannel - as she would be continuing her research and practice in transmutation circles and wandless magic with Barty, who also never attended Hogsmeade (unlike Regulus, who often went with  _dates_  now) - and met with her best friend at the foot of the stairs in their Common Room.

"Are you alright?" Barty asked nervously, glancing up and down at her.

Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"There are - rumours -"

"About  _what_?" Hermione's narrow-eyed look had Barty struggle for a moment before answering with a sigh.

"That you punched Black?" The rising octave at the end of the sentence made it more of a question than a statement and Hermione mentally groaned.

"Anything else?"

Barty shook his head, his brown eyes wide and entreating as he looked at her. "You didn't  _really_  punch him, did you?"

When she didn't answer, he flinched.

"But  _why_?" he nearly wailed as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. "You  _don't_  want the spotlight! You  _hate_  any kind of attention - specifically theirs!"

Hermione fidgeted as they sat, and began reaching for some toast, taking in the soft chatter of her Ravenclaw mates and the excited noise coming from the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables behind them.

"It - it was an accident," she murmured offside to him as he bit into a sugary jam tart. "I lost my temper. It won't happen again."

The look Barty sent her was  _oh, really?_  to which she stared at him. He muttered, "Well, let's see if that is true, because here comes Black - and not the one we like."

" _Whu_ -"

Just as she spoke, the noise volume around her plummeted as someone slid in the seat next to her, comfortably reaching for her half-eaten toast, plucking it from her hand. Hermione watched, following that toast with her eyes, as it made its way toward Sirius Black, who bit into it and sent her a cheeky grin around the bread.

"That -" sputtered Hermione. "That's my toast."

"It's a tasty slice of bread, love," replied Sirius, the grin still on his lips as he held the toast back out to her to take a bite. "Sharesies?"

Hermione stared at him for a solid minute, incomprehensibly. Sirius looked as handsome as ever, his curls pushed back and off his forehead, his grey eyes warm and practically  _daring_  her to punch him again, in casual Muggle wear of jeans and a jumper with a jacket thrown over top.

She then looked around, realized how many people were watching them, and asked, quite sincerely, "Are you lost?"

"Nah, Princess," the fifth-year Gryffindor grinned at her. "I'm right where I want to be." He leaned forward a bit, causing her to lean back into Barty.

Her best friend wrapped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders, along her sternum, and drew her back further into his chest. His glare smoldered and had it been a spell, Sirius would've been incinerated by the intensity the Ravenclaw was projecting. Sirius, of course, being himself, ignored him.

"Say - Hermione, love," began Sirius, eyes on hers, "D'you have a date for Hogsmeade yet?"

Hermione blinked. "No."

"Oh?" asked Sirius, leaning forward a bit more.

Hermione, in response, leaned back, and Barty slid a bit down the bench, into a scowling sixth year who told him to "watch it, Crouch!", sharply.

She then narrowed her eyes. " _Why_?" she asked, elongating the vowel.

"Why, love," grinned Sirius, lowering his voice to a husky timbre, "' _Hear my soul speak: / The very instant that I saw you, did / My heart fly to your service._ '"

There was a hushed silence, a formed of baited breath around them as girls leaned in closer to hear Hermione's reply, while the boys attempted to look cool and not like they were watching for their own pickup lines and tips from Hogwarts' smoothest serial dater.

Behind her, Hermione could feel Barty's jaw swing down as his mouth dropped open, being pressed against her temple. For herself, Hermione wondered if she had actually died in her sleep without realizing it because Sirius Black was asking her out.  _Her_. By quoting  _Shakespeare_.

To be sure, Hermione carefully looked around, but nope - he was still looking at her. Frowning, Hermione looked back at Sirius, and said, carefully, "No."

Sirius, in return, blinked. "No?"

"No," she nodded firmly. Behind her, Barty exhaled in relief.

"No… you won't go to Hogsmeade with me?" asked Sirius, in confirmation although his tone radiated his confusion.

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

He perked up. "Yes, you  _will_  go with me?"

Hermione wanted to smack her head against the table. "I'm sorry, when did this turn into an Abbott and Costello routine? Black. Read my lips." Hermione leaned in close, in a parody of earlier in which Sirius was now leaning back a little, but his eyes were nearly cross eyed as he looked down his nose to focus on Hermione's mouth as she enunciated each word, " _Not. In. A. Million. Years_."

Behind her, Barty sniggered into his tart, happily biting into it again as Hermione re-established the social order of her not being interested in the Marauders, and turned to casually dismiss the now gobsmacked Gryffindor.

Sirius hummed thoughtfully beside her, his grey eyes reading something off her, but got up from the table. He did lean down, hovering his mouth just by her ear, and whisper, "Until later, Princess."

Before leaving, he gave her a jaunty flick of his fingers goodbye, as well as a wink. He then returned to the Gryffindor table. Immediately, the noise level rose and Hermione could hear parts of the many conversations going on around her:

_"-punched him yesterday-"_

_"-it was in the library!"_

_"-sweet, reciting love poetry-"_

_"-that was Shakespeare, Delaney, Merlin; aren't you supposed to be a Ravenclaw?"  
"-what a tart, turning down Sirius Black-!"_

_"-he's a_ dreamboat _!"_

Hermione sighed, looking down at her plate. Maybe she should have gone with 'exit: pursued by bear' as her parting line the previous night instead?  _And worse_ , she thought mournfully, Black had taken her toast.

* * *

If Hermione had hoped that Sirius Black's interest in her would wane, she was grossly underestimating the teen's tenacity to go after something that intrigued him - a credit to his future animagus form, or one that he already had, she surmised.

Sirius tried to sit with her and Barty at dinner again, nodding to her friend and turning to her with a smile and a partially wilting flower that he magicked up with a deft flick of his wrist as he presented it to her.

"' _Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better_ ,'" he recited, imploring her with wide grey puppy dog eyes to take the flower.

Hermione looked at it, and then at Sirius, and said, blandly, "That's kind of ironic," and then turned back to Barty, as they were in the middle of their charms homework. Sirius pouted, looking down at the wilted flower, and blanched.

"Erm," he said, looking around the Ravenclaw table, but other than several young girls and a few boys, the one he was trying to get to know better was ignoring him.

"-Flitwick said that if you give a bit more of a curl at the end of this spell, though, it'll throw off the entire arithmetic formula," Crouch was arguing, glancing up from their shared notes.

Sirius leaned forward.

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, if you leave the spell the way it is - but if you change the casting - from  _arcanum revelare_  to  _revelare abscondita_ , you can add the flourish at the end."

Interest piqued, as a part of his brain was going  _are they_ inventing and modifying  _spells?_ , Sirius leaned forward a bit more, and then shuffled along the bench so that his thigh pressed against Hermione's.

She glanced at him. "What?"

He looked at their notes, which were covered with the fourth-year curriculum Flitwick taught - it was a spell for revealing hidden items, mostly used for inks and misplaced socks - but then at the different coloured ink that Hermione and Crouch were using to adjust the spell to make it more powerful. A series of equations and strange symbols and lines made Sirius blink in surprise.

"This is - seventh-year material!" sputtered Sirius, eyes wide.

The look Hermione and Crouch gave him made him feel like he just missed a first-year answer to a question McGonagall just asked.

Beginning to fidget, and thinking that maybe he was out of his depth, he left. Hermione and Barty would later call it "running away" (which Regulus would mention was something Sirius did quite often to avoid things that made him uncomfortable), but Sirius would argue it was a "strategic retreat."

He needed some help from the Marauders.

* * *

Sirius turned up outside of Transfiguration on Monday morning, with a wide grin and a pleasant, "Morning, Princess!" as he strode up to her, clearly recovered from his Saturday retreat to plan a new attack.

Hermione, squished between Barty and Regulus, took one look at the Gryffindor, shoved her book bag at Barty, and turned on her heel.

"Wait! Hermione! Love! Come back!" shouted Sirius behind her as she disappeared in the crowd. Behind her, she could see him standing on his toes and trying to find her, waving his arm as frantically as she did in her first year in her first life when she knew the answer to a question.

But she sure as hell heard his voice with an extended  _sonorous_  in the halls cry after her, "' _For stony limits cannot hold love out, / And what love can do that dares love attempt_ '!"

"Mr. Black!" cried McGonagall, "What is this shouting nonsense?"

Hermione's lips turned up and she ducked down a secret passage to Herbology. It was somewhat amusing. And it was nice to see Sirius smile, acting more his age than the rough, worn-out man he'd become.

 _I suppose I can allow him_ some _fun,_  she thought generously.  _But I'm not going to make it easy on him to talk to me. And I won't be going on a date, either._

The mental image of her and Sirius on a date to Madam Puddifoot's - and even better,  _Harry's_  reaction - kept the grin on her face for the rest of the day.

* * *

On Wednesday, Hermione thought she had escaped Sirius, ducking and weaving between classmates and crowds, eating in the kitchens, and generally avoiding her usual haunts of the library, the clock tower, or the Room. The Room of Requirement was incredibly helpful, as well, but if she spent too much time in there, it failed to be a secret; Regulus was bound to be more suspicious than he was and Barty couldn't keep a secret from him if his life depended on it.

Instead, Hermione took advantage of the crisp November snow and went for a walk around the Great Lake, snacking on an apple as she mentally calculated the next step for her transmutations. She had mastered several early charms and spells in the Hogwarts curriculum, but Hermione had others plans.

While the majority of the student populace was inside the castle, Hermione figured  _now_  was an excellent time to make her next attempt: transmutations without a spell. Theoretically, Hermione posited that she could use her magic instinctively to create what she needed without the arithmetic equations that were bound to many spells. Once she knew the properties of what she wanted to transfigure or transmute, it would be like muscle memory - one she wanted to test on a patch of snow under a tree near the Lake.

Taking a bite out of the apple, and sinking her teeth into it deeply to leave it partially hanging out of her mouth, Hermione shoved her arms out in front of her, palms out with the left on top of the right with her thumbs touching in a triangular shape.

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep inhale through her nose (mindful of the apple still in her mouth), and then swung her arms gently down, separating the two hands in a wide arc away from one another, picturing the snow melting, the water reforming and freezing, turning away to reveal the barren grass below as it rolled and condensed into three separate, perfectly shaped balls -

"Princess!"

Hermione's eyes popped open and whatever magic she gathered in her hands dissipated, and she inhaled, choking on a bit of apple as her teeth came down fully and took a chunk out. The apple dropped from her mouth to the snow, and she whirled to stare at Sirius.

The Gryffindor was grinning at her, surrounded by his friends, but his grin slipped off his face as he realized that he had startled her badly.

Hermione coughed, her hands in front of her mouth, but then Potter was there, slapping her hard on her back and staring down at her from behind his round glasses, muttering, "Hermione, you okay? Breathe. Breathe, Hermione!"

Her face was bright red as she finally managed to either swallow the apple piece or cough chunks up into her hands. Those in her hand she swept away with a nonverbal and wandless  _scourgify_  from her skin, leaving it a rubbed pink, and there were tears in her eyes. At her side, Potter rubbed circles on her back. It was strangely comforting - much better than Harry's awkward pats.

Sirius's face was ashen and remorseful as he slowly took a step closer to her. "Merlin, Evans, I'm sorry - I didn't know you were eating anything."

Snuffling a bit and blinking back her tears from the coughs, Hermione took a deep breath and balefully glared up at the much taller teen.

"What are you doing out here?" she grit out.

Sirius blinked, looking at her and then Potter, and then Lupin and Pettigrew, the latter two who both held brooms in their hands. "Ah - we were practicing for Quidditch." Then his face changed and his voice rose earnestly. "And what were  _you_  doing out here? What was that that you were doing? I've never seen magic like that!"

Hermione eyed Lupin and Pettigrew - knowing the future possibility of what Pettigrew would do - and decided to keep her abilities quiet. Instead, she sniffled delicately and tilted her chin out. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Sirius."

"Erm," said Potter from Hermione's side.

"It's bloody freezing out here, Princess!" retorted Sirius, and as if on cue, a chilly wind kicked up and Hermione involuntarily shivered. "You should be inside, where it's warm!"

 _Is he… being serious?_  Thought Hermione, stifling a giggle at the pun her brain went to. Instead, she shook her head and dug deep for the ire she usually felt.

" _Excuse me_ ," huffed Hermione, "Who do you think you are? My  _dad_? I can be outside in the cold, if I want, Black!"

Pettigrew's head was bouncing back and forth, as he watched them bicker, while Lupin sighed. Potter hadn't removed his hand from Hermione's back, and the warmth from it soaked in through her jacket as he tried again, tentatively saying, "Pads. Pads - really - c'mon. Leave Evans be, yeah?"

Sirius's own head whipped around to look at his best friend. " _Leave her be?_ " he echoed. "Like you leave her sister alone?"

Potter flushed a very embarrassing red that clashed with his Gryffindor scarf. The hand on her back twitched, but Potter didn't add anything else to the conversation.

Instead, Sirius turned back to Hermione, eyes troubled as they looked at her pink and glove-free hands, to her free hair and scarf-less neck, as well as her thin flannel,  _sans_ jacket. "Do you have a death wish, woman? Get inside!" at that pronouncement, Sirius went to unzip his jacket. "Merlin - you're shivering - take my jacket and keep warm!"

Hermione stared at him just as Lupin stepped forward and said, "Hey now, Padfoot - it's cold out, why don't you keep your jacket on?"

"Black," said Hermione, her voice tight, feeling odd as she was about to say something  _Ron Weasley_  once told. "Are you a wizard or not? It's called a  _warming charm_  for a reason."

There was a sly look in Hermione's eyes as she asked, innocently, "Or are you having wand performance issues?"

The stupefied look on Sirius's face - like he got hit with a wet fish - was worth the last five days' of Sirius Black tracking her down and reciting Shakespeare to her. And this was hopefully the end of it.

The hand on her back twitched again - just a bit -, and then Potter was trying to muffle a snort, but it was contagious and both Pettigrew and Lupin were fighting back smiles.

"Oh," said Black, blinking. There was a gleam in his eyes when he spoke next, his tone of grudging respect. "Oh. Well played, Princess. Touché."

She nodded once and stepped away from Potter, who let his hand slide down her back as she did so. When she shivered next it wasn't from being cold, but she refused to analyze it. "Excuse me, boys. I have somewhere I need to be."

She then walked between Potter on her right and Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew on her left, never looking back, even when Sirius shouted after her, "' _For stony limits cannot hold love out, / And what love can do that dares love attempt_.'"

She sighed.

* * *

She had hoped that Sirius's notorious roving eye would have meant that his interest in her would've faded by Friday when her appointed tutoring hour with James Potter rolled by.

Unfortunately, it hadn't.

Hermione valiantly ignored Sirius sitting at the same table with her and James for the first forty minutes. As per their routine, James handed Hermione his returned homework for her to check over, while she had him do a late-semester third year revision quiz. He had speedily progressed to the point that just before the winter holidays, Hermione thought he would be on the fourth year material and potentially ready for his OWLs at the end of that school year.

Once he completed the revision, Hermione asked him to review the mistakes she pointed out on his homework; he would attempt them again while she reviewed his quiz. They worked in silence for the first hour, usually, and it was no different that night except for Sirius's gaze on her.

It made her nervous. His eyes never left her face, or rather, her, as she sometimes glanced over to see the grey dip to her hands, or her neck. She was sure there was a blush on her cheeks and potentially a streak of ink on her cheek.

Despite that, the teen remained surprisingly silent.

It was unnerving.

Potter's nervous glances toward his friend didn't help either.

Hermione was on the last set of revisions on Potter's paper when Sirius sighed, loudly. Her quill streaked red ink across the page and she swore loudly and colourfully.

"Hermione!" cried a delighted Sirius, eyes bright.

"God- _fucking_ -damnit, Sirius!" Hermione slammed her quill down on the table and snapped her fingers over the parchment, watching as her nonverbal  _tergeo_  siphoned the spilled ink into a large red blob that, with a directed flick of a pointer finger, returned to her inkwell. " _What_  is your problem? Hmm? Why won't you to  _leave me alone_?"

"Because you're so interesting," he replied, a bit lovesick.

Hermione's eyes narrowed on him. "What."

Sirius sat up, eyes wide and pushed his curly black hair off from his face up and over his forehead. He grinned at her. "You're smart, Hermione. And - and  _powerful_. You're kind, even though you hide it behind this  _awesome_  mean persona that would make the Slytherins weep with fear. You're ahead of  _everyone_  in your two favourite subjects, Arithmacy and Charms, and the professors love you."

"Black…"

Sirius's voice, which had been energetic and prideful, softened. His grey eyes which were stormy, melted into a soft dove grey instead and his shoulders relaxed, curling just a bit.

"And - and I know you don't like my attention," he continued

Hermione's ire at the teen began to dissipate slowly, like a smothered fire with only tendrils of smoke softly wafting through the air.

Sirius finally looked away. "But even though all you saw was me shouting at you - trying to get your attention - I watched you all the time."

Potter snorted, and Hermione cut her eyes to him. He nodded emphatically and mouthed,  _"All. The. Time."_

"And I saw you with Crouch," continued Sirius, bitterness and guilt creeping into his voice. "And - and Reggie."

Hermione sighed.  _And…_ there _goes the last remains of anger I had towards him_. She took a deep breath and remembered the man he would become with twelve years of Azkaban and guilt behind him. She softened her tone. "You have the capacity for great love - I've seen it with your friends. You can be an amazing person, a true Gryffindor: strong, brave, chivalrous."

Both Sirius and Potter were staring at her now.

"But to be those things, for the love of all things holy, I swear to God," sighed a very exasperated Hermione, " _grow up_."

"What?" squeaked Sirius, his voice high. He cleared his throat.

"You heard me," said Hermione, sending Sirius a rather dry look. "If you want to talk to your brother,  _go talk to him_. You don't need to pretend to be interested in  _me_  to do that, especially just because I have an  _in_  with the Slytherins. He's your  _brother_."

Sirius's mouth dropped open and then it closed, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water for a bit. "I-"

A part of Hermione was desperately upset at the fact that Sirius was using her to talk to Regulus; but another part of her understood. She, Harry, and Ron got to know the younger Black brother through his heroic and suicidal deed of stealing the locket Horcrux, and even Kreacher could be convinced to share a few stories of the Slytherin on particular maudlin days post-war. The three of them ended up admiring the young man who died at eighteen - barely four years from now in this timeline - and Hermione could understand the pressure that Sirius was under to avoid his brother while wanting to keep an eye out for him. Finding a link between the two -  _her_  - as a go-between was smart.

But damn if it didn't hurt just a bit. What she doomed to be a second thought by  _all_  men? The hot taste of bile rose in her throat and her stomach rolled.

With her hands trembling, Hermione turned to Potter, and said, "I'm sorry - I can't do this tonight. We can meet up later to go over things if you want, but I can't stay here."

She gathered up her things, shoving them in her bag. She was caught in a series of memories as they flashed by; leaving her confused and despondent - where was the man she would know in him? She barely recognized him between the malicious glee in his pranks, or the casual disregard for people's feelings. Where was the man that stood up for his godson? The man who would sit and stare in the bottom of a glass and recognize and realize his past mistakes and tried to atone for them?

"Hermione."

Hermione looked up at the gentle calling of her name. She blinked furiously a few times, as Sirius's face was swimming - were those tears in her eyes? The teen had a hand stretched out towards her but it failed to touch. There was a wry smile on his face - a twisted, bitter thing - and the shock of something familiar from  _her_  Sirius had Hermione freeze.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I don't say that often, so treasure that, okay, Princess? I'm the one who crashed the tutoring session - twice now. I'm leaving. I won't bother you again."

"Padfoot?" murmured a surprised Potter, who had remained frozen in his seat, but watching the two, thinking another punch was well on its way.

Sirius turned to his friend and muttered something too low for her to hear. Slowly, Potter nodded, his hazel eyes slipping from his friend to Hermione, standing at the table with her chair pushed back behind her.

The other Gryffindor paused, just for a moment, and then said quietly, "It wasn't just because of Reggie, Princess," and then disappeared behind a tall stack, his steps muted against the wood and turning light as they were swallowed by the other ambient noise of the library.

She was still standing seconds later, frozen. Potter was looking at her with worried eyes. "You alright, Hermione? We can pick this up later, if you want. We don't need to continue."

She blinked at him; taking in what he just said that. Slowly, she sat, eyes on her hands, willing them to stop trembling with nerves.

Potter didn't say anything as she slowly unpacked her notes and quills and ink, nor did he speak when she handed over his graded revision. Instead, she slowly began speaking about integers, almost haltingly. But Potter listened, nodded, and only asked her a question when he needed it. Otherwise, it was the quietest tutoring session that ever had.  
And when he left, before her, he stopped at the side of her chair. He looked down, she looked up, and he tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder - for a single, breathless moment - and then was gone.

 _Huh_ , thought Hermione.  _Maybe there actually is a bit of Harry in there to see._

* * *

True to his word, Sirius didn't bother her again. He was no longer shouting Shakespearean love lines at her, nor was he appearing wherever she was, much to Barty's pleasure. Rumours of Hermione turning him down one too many times meant that people shifted their attention from her to the (obviously) heartbroken Sirius Black, who suddenly had an influx of dates for the last Hogsmeade weekend before Yule break.

With a sigh of relief, Hermione was once more -  _partially_ \- invisible. Kind of anyway, because every so often, she would feel someone's eyes burn into her back, which faced the Gryffindor table. She never turned around to check who it was - she knew it wasn't Lily, because her sister would just come and sit with her if she wanted to sit and talk and she was the type to pull  _everything_  out after cornering them - and Barty never sat opposite from Hermione to check, either. The only one facing the Gryffindor table was Regulus, and despite the assessing grey eyes and the cool smirk on his face, he didn't tell her who it was, either.

(But she had her guesses.)

Slowly, equilibrium was achieved, and a month after the disastrous morning of November's Hogsmeade weekend, at the start of December's, Hermione felt that  _this_  was how it was supposed to go: her, in Muggle clothes with an open Advanced Transfiguration text, next to Barty, planning their London outings over the break, and conspiring on how to sneak Regulus away from another Yule party with his family.

"-I heard that there was going to be an amazing New Years' bash," Barty was saying, quickly shovelling in bites of his breakfast for their full day out. She listened fondly to his exuberant voice. "From Elliott Smith? Remember him? Hufflepuff, a year up, and we met him as we were leaving the Leaky in the summer. He was also at Amos Diggory's 1974 'do and said that the man is going to host another this year.  _Full_  Muggle, at some pub in the middle of nowhere. What do you say, Hermione? Hmm? Let's?"

"Are we formally invited or crashing?" she asked patiently, shutting the book and slipping it into her book bag.

"Oh, crashing," nodded Barty emphatically, eyes wide with mischief. "Definitely. We'll bring Reg, too." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Have you got his gift yet? For Yule?"

Hermione gave Barty some side-eye and a quirk of her lips. "What makes you think I have  _yours_?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh. An arm stretched out and around her shoulder, hauling her into his side tightly. He leaned his chin on her bushy head, and Hermione - fully taking advantage of (not-)Harry's advice to live her life, to make her own decisions as though nothing could mess up the timeline, and leaned back in to her friend.

"I don't know what happened," whispered Barty quietly in her ear, his voice low, "But I like this you. You've changed - since you started tutoring Potter, and even after that Black nonsense. Whatever it is - don't let yourself go back to how you were before."

"I won't," she promised quietly, snaking her own arm around his back and squeezing.

They sat in silence for a bit, and then, as students slowly filtered from the Hall to the Clock Tower, Hermione and Barty joined them waiting in line for a carriage. Regulus slithered up at one point, dressed impeccably in his pressed trousers and cloak, his black, curly hair a mop on his head but artfully styled.

"Morning," he said, the words crisps and clear in his rounded Pureblood tones. "Where to, first?"

The three exchanged glances as they moved up several spots.

"Honeydukes?" suggested Barty, naming his favourite shop.

Hermione eyed him fondly. "Have you already gone through your stash?"

Regulus snickered behind a hand as Barty pouted. "You say that like it's a  _bad_  thing! Besides, you just want to visit Scrivenshaft's for a new quill - that's the, what?  _Fourth_ you've broken since beginning to tutor Potter?"

Hermione's amusement disappeared quickly and she scowled at her friend, while Regulus's snickers grew louder.

They were at the head of the queue, and then in one of the (not so) horseless carriages. Easy conversation flowed between the three, with Hermione relaxing into the hard black leather of the carriage's seats, until they were through the gate and at the Hogsmeade station.

Between Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft's, and Zonko's, they made quick work of any shopping desires, and Hermione even had time to slip away from the two males to get their Yule cards and to place the final touches on their presents.

By noon, their stomachs were growling and they laughingly entered the Three Broomsticks, which was noisy and loud, as several others had the same thought as they did. However, Regulus's keen eyes found them a booth tucked in the far corner, the furthest from the door along the front by the window, so that they could gossip and window watch.

It wasn't until they were done their meal that Hermione realized the group of teens sitting nearby, one in particular who kept glancing over, thinking he was subtle. When Hermione finally caught the grey eyes, she quirked an eyebrow.

The teen sighed, and muttered something to his friends, shoving his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore, and he slouched and strode over, around discarded seats and a few knapsacks on the sticky floor.

Hermione watched his progress until he was standing at their table, shifting uncomfortably as he waited to be noticed. The conversation between Barty and Regulus trailed off, with Barty glaring at the Gryffindor teen hotly.

Barty was slowly reaching for one of his last chips, never taking his eyes off Sirius as he brought it to his mouth and began munching on the soggy potato. Sirius grimaced but nodded at him, as well. "Crouch." His voice was significantly warmer when he turned to Hermione. "Evans." His eyes then turned to the teen sitting across from Hermione and Barty.

Regulus stared coolly at his brother. "Sirius."

Sirius shuffled a bit and nodded, sharply, once. "Reg."

Regulus leaned back in the seat, adopting a very carefree and relaxed pose. "What brings you to our table?"

"I - ah - I -" Sirius flicked his eyes over at Hermione, almost in desperation as something close to panic and annoyance crossed his face, shortly. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, determination was writ on his face.

"I'm staying at the Potters for Yule, Reg. I wasn't sure if I would see you again before school starts back up in January, so…" he trailed off, sighing loudly and glancing away. A nervous hand ran through his hair. Finally, he shrugged, and withdrew a small package from his leather jacket pockets.

Hermione watched as he made an aborted motion - first to almost toss the item carelessly onto their dirty tabletop - but then he gently placed it before his brother. "Happy Yule, Reggie."

Regulus stared hard at the gift for several moments. From her position - and Barty's as well - they could see the emotions flit across his face: shock, suspicion, annoyance, and then finally, resigned acceptance and a bit of fondness.

The younger Black reached for the gift and drew it close to him. "It's not going to blow up in my face, is it?"

Sirius barked out a laugh. It was so eerily familiar Hermione startled a bit. "No. No, Reg, it's not - I swear on my honour as a Marauder that it's not a prank."

"Hmm," replied Regulus, but he carefully placed the gift in the pockets of his own cloak. When he looked up at his elder brother, his own grey eyes were bright. "My thanks. Happy Yule, Sirius."

Sirius bobbed his head in a strange sort of not-quite-a-nod at his brother and Barty, who had his eyes narrowed, and then turned to Hermione. "No sonnets this time, Princess."

"Oh?" Hermione's own eyes narrowed and she leaned back in her seat, but unlike Regulus's cool look, she crossed her arms combatively.

Sirius shook his head. "Just -" he paused, his head cocked slightly to the side as though he was listening to something else. "Just,  _thanks_."

He then turned and stalked back through the busy room of the Three Broomsticks, until his friends who crowded him, speaking all at once, and then they were gone, through the door with a cold blast of December air.

"What just happened?" asked Barty eventually, dragging his last chip through the leftover ketchup. He began to draw patterns that Hermione recognized as Arithmacy equations.

Hermione turned to look at Barty and then past him, out the window. Through the thick glass, she spotted twin blurry black heads crowd together with two sandy blonds.

"I think we just witnessed Sirius Black growing up," she said with a small grin on her lips. At Barty's look of horror, she laughed.

And across from them, Regulus leaned back in his seat, a small, contented smile on his lips as he hand, under the table, turned over the small gift in his pocket, again and again, reassuring himself it was still there.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius's Shakespearean quotes, in order:  _The Tempest, Twelfth Night, Romeo and Juliet, Troilus and Cressida._
> 
> Working on updating  _the Winter Witch_  soon, as well as continuing  _Cursed Be this Soul (that Ties Us Together)_. I hurt the fleshy part of my thumb and it's super swollen and hurts and I don't know how, so typing has been fun and short-lived in sporadic bursts of pain-free inspiration. In addition, working on a chapter for publication on King Arthur, so that comes first. More updates in August, once I settle into my new house (!).
> 
> For those who may have contributed to my P*treon – I appreciate your donations kindly, but is a bitch and won't let me remove any funds, so I will be shutting my account down. I am currently in the process with Support to refund patronage.


	6. Einstein's General Theory of Relativity

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

VI

* * *

 **Lt. Ford** : Is time-travel possible?

 **Dr. McKay** : Well, according to Einstein's General Theory of Relativity, there's nothing in the laws of physics to prevent it. Extremely difficult to achieve, mind you – you need the technology to manipulate black holes to create wormholes not only through points in space, but time.

 **Maj. Sheppard** : Not to mention a really nice De Lorean.

 **Dr. McKay** : Don't even get me started on that movie!

 **Maj. Sheppard** : I liked that movie!

-  _Stargate Atlantis_ , "Before I Sleep," 1x15

* * *

The worst thing about travelling on the Hogwarts Express back to London for the holidays was the fact that Hermione's (new? Second? whatever.) parents lived in Yorkshire.

After leaving Hogwarts in the morning, they'd arrive sometime early afternoon. Disembarking, saying goodbye to friends (when one was Lily; Hermione didn't have many friends), collecting their trunks, and then making their way surreptitiously through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, purchasing their train tickets, the inevitable wait, and then the four-hour train ride north… it was past dinner when they arrived in Hull.

Leo Evans was waiting for his daughters at the ASDA parking lot adjacent to the train station in his car, window cracked as he smoked and read a newspaper by the light of a streetlamp.

"Hello girls!" he greeted his daughters when he spotted them coming over the metal bridge, exiting the car and greeting Lily first with a tight hug. The redhead laughed happily, dropping her trunk and squeezing their father back tightly.

"Daddy!"

Then Leo turned to Hermione. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, and gently, tentatively, reached for Hermione to draw her into a careful hug.

Stunned, Hermione could only think,  _have I truly been that closed off to everyone, including my own family in this time?_  Resolved, after her talk with not-Harry, Hermione reached around her father and tightly hugged him back.

The man exhaled loudly and brought a hand up to cup the back of Hermione's bushy curls. "Oh, my little Queen…"

Hermione's eyes burned and she furiously blinked back tears. She sniffed as she withdrew from the hug and saw her father's eyes were shining a bit brightly in the streetlamp. He cleared his throat and roughly said, "Let's get your trunks into the boot then, shall we? Rose has a stew on for you both."

Lily clambered into the front seat next to her father, chattering away of the fall semester with all the spells they were learning and the latest gossip from Gryffindor. Hermione, quietly, settled in the back, letting Lily take the spotlight.

It was habitual, but something was different this time: Leo glanced at his youngest daughter in the rear-view mirror and smiled.

This time, instead of pulling out a book to read or turning away from the look to stare out at the un/familiar hometown, Hermione smiled back.

A few days later, Hermione's eyes followed the confident forms of her mother and Lily as they effortlessly moved from one part of the kitchen to the other. She leaned against the wall at the kitchen entrance, eyes moving back and forth, as Lily stirred something on the stovetop, and her mother chopped vegetables at the counter.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Hermione eventually, despite the cramped space. She wanted to add something to the family dinner, even if it was just taking the roast from the oven.

"Oh, no, love," said Rose, flashing a smile at her youngest. "Lily and I have everything in hand here."

"Thanks anyway!" piped up Lily from the stove, grinning. "Why don't you go back to the living room and read?"

 _Ouch_ , thought Hermione, although it was without much bite. Suddenly she was wondering if others in her previous life dismissed her as someone that they thought would prefer books to human interaction. To be fair, they weren't wrong per se, but -

Hermione sighed and turned, only to bump into Petunia who had crept up behind her. Her eldest sister's long face softened from the scowl she had been wearing, and her green eyes flickered between the kitchen and Hermione.

"Daddy's snoring in his chair," said Petunia. "I could use some help finishing the decorations on the tree."

Brightening, Hermione followed Petunia to their living room at the front of the house, and together, the two pulled out ornaments and foil from storage boxes. The two didn't speak as they decorated the tree, but Hermione had a smile on her face as she contributed to her family's tradition, something she had never done before.

Every so often, she'd feel Petunia's eyes on her, and when she'd glance up, Petunia was resolutely looking elsewhere. But as the evening progressed, and by the time Rose shouted, "dinner!" and Leo awoke with a snort from his nap, Petunia's face had softened and there was even a small smile on her lips.

* * *

Christmas Day was spent at the church in the morning, and then home for a late, large family lunch that included Leo's parents - their paternal grandparents - and their paternal uncle at their house. The dining table sat a very cramped eight, and when they were younger, Lily also had invited Severus Snape over; making an even more cramped nine at the table. As it stood, eight was enough for them, and the two girls attending Hogwarts didn't have to carefully school Snape in how to act or what to say around their extended muggle family.

They began their Christmas tradition with their lunch, and their grandparents Humphrey and Marie Evans, asking the girls about school. Hogwarts was a bit wishy-washy on what they thought of 'immediate family,' usually limiting it to the parents of magical children only in the muggle world, but their father's family in close proximity and the accidental witnessing of Lily once changing the patterns on their grandmother's favourite tea set during a birthday celebration, they were brought into the fold.

Rose began to enthuse about Petunia's latest grades and how her A-levels were going. "-and Pet has some of the highest grades in her English class!"

"That's wonderful, dear," said their grandmother, reaching over from beside Petunia to pat her on her arm. There was a grimace of distaste when she turned to the other two. "And how are things going at your -  _boarding_  school, girls?"

Lily immediately bloomed, her face animated as she gave a play-by-play of her courses, her OWL prep, and some anecdotes of her fellow Gryffindor dorm mates. Hermione let her sister's voice wash over her as she ate her vegetables and roast silently, her thoughts focused inward on the letter she needed to send to Barty to coordinate their New Years' plans of crashing Amos Diggory's party, and how they were going to sneak Regulus away, when Lily's voice permeated her mind.

"-punched Sirius Black in the face! In the  _library_ ," finished Lily, her voice dropping on the last word.

Hermione's head popped up from looking at her plate to see the various looks her family members were giving her. Petunia looked horrified, as did her mother and grandmother, while her father and uncle seemed torn between bemused and affronted.

"Whatever did this Black boy do to you, Hermione?" asked her grandfather.

She shot a nasty glare at Lily, who shrugged back. Hesitantly, Hermione answered, "... he interrupted a tutoring session I was giving his best friend."

"Sirius Black… Sirius Black," mused Rose, tapping a finger to her lips. "He's best friends with James Potter? That boy that you're complaining about, Lily? The one that fancies you?"

Lily turned a shade of red that didn't compliment her hair colour. "He's a toe rag," she muttered. "He's cruel and plays terrible pranks on Severus."

Both Petunia and Hermione rolled their eyes; although Petunia's response was because she disliked Snape in general, for Hermione, it was because she knew the Slytherin gave as good as he received. Neither were innocent in their hexing of one another.

"And you're tutoring him, Hermione, dear?" asked Rose, a frown on her face. "Is Potter bothering you, too?"

Hermione shook his head. "No - that was Black. After I punched him, I recited some Shakespeare - a mistake, in hindsight - and then he spent two weeks following me around, shouting sonnets at me."

Her uncle laughed into his napkin. "Well, that's better than the proposal Lily got."

Lily sent her uncle a nasty look at the memory of James Potter shouting his intent to marry her in their second year. She had loudly complained about it when she returned home for Christmas.

"In my day, we didn't need to shout things at the young ladies we were interested in," grumbled Humphrey, turning to face his wife, who smiled back at him. "We gave the woman we courted every courtesy she deserved, by being attentive to her needs, kind, and respectful."

Marie patted her husband on his arm, as she had Petunia but this time it was slightly patronizing. "And yet I remember you chasing me down from one dance hall to the next with my girlfriends, seeking my time."

Hermione's grandfather flushed.

"Should we worry about this Black?" asked Leo, worriedly.

His brother snorted. "Leonard. Please. If Hermione's going around smacking him and he's following her around afterward, I think she can handle herself."

Hermione blushed at the insinuation and Petunia stifled a gasp while Lily snickered into her roast beef. "It's fine, we don't need to worry!" she yelped. "He only wanted to talk to his brother and thought to go through me was a fine idea."

Now, her grandfather and uncle scowled. "What?"

Hermione shrugged, unconcernedly, while moving some cut pieces of food around her face, twirling her fork. "It's fine. I don't have time for boys, anyway. Besides, I'm only fourteen."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Lily jumped in, "What Hermione isn't saying here is that our charms and arithmancy professors think she'll write her end of school exams in those subjects this year! Who needs boys when she's a little brainy monster!"

And amidst all the clamour of her grades, the praise that heaped upon her from her family, Hermione offered a few thin, tight smiles that never quite reached her eyes.

* * *

Petunia came to check on her a week later, on New Years' Eve. Hermione was in her bedroom, the one she shared with Lily, as they were the closest in age (and it made sense keeping all the magic stuff in one, contained, area). Lily was downstairs, drinking cider with their parents in the living room as they watched a programme on the BBC. Petunia was the last to get ready for their NYE outing to the local.

Her eldest sister knocked on her slightly ajar door and pushed it opened. "Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading on her bed, cross-legged. "Tuney?"

Biting her lip, the blonde entered the room and her eyes darted this way and that as she took in the pile of magical texts on Hermione's desk, or the sleeping owl near Lily's bed, with a wing covering its face.

Petunia tentatively sat on the very edge of Hermione's bed. "Are you sure you want to stay in tonight?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I'll be fine."

"Well, it's just that-" Petunia paused. "Sean has a few friends coming tonight as well, if you wanted to meet any of them…?

 _Sean?_  thought Hermione, frowning as she tried to recognize the name.  _Who's that?_

Petunia must have read her face because she gave a tight smile. "That's right; you weren't around when I was telling mum and daddy about him. He's my boyfriend."

"The rugby player from Cokeworth Secondary?" asked Hermione, thinking back to a brief conversation she had walked on in earlier during the holidays.

Petunia's face lit up and her smile smoothed out. "Yes! Anyway - Sean has some friends coming tonight. I know mum and daddy will be there too, but, they won't be everywhere…?"

"Tuney," began an incredulous Hermione, "Are you - are you trying to set me up on a date?"

A rosy blush covered Petunia's fair skin. She looked away and began playing with a loose thread on her cardigan. "It's just that - at dinner that night - you seemed - about that - that  _boy_  at your… your  _school_ -"

Hermione felt her heart swell. Petunia never liked it when Lily went on about Hogwarts, not since she first attended; but Hermione knew that was due to the way Lily crowed about her life there, and Petunia felt like Lily was leaving her behind. By association, Hermione was part of that, but since she never engaged with her family in general, Petunia had less animosity towards her silent and closed off sister. The fact that Petunia had even decided to bring up the conversation about a wizard and Hogwarts - even obliquely - was huge.

"I'm not interested in Sirius," replied Hermione calmly, closing her book and setting it aside.

"But you want him to be…?" asked Petunia.

Hermione laughed. "No. Not at all. I think one day he might be a friend, but he's not grown-up enough for me."

Petunia nodded. "You are fourteen, going on forty."

 _You have no idea_ , thought Hermione in amusement. "School is enough for me right now, Tuney. And I have my friends."

Both girls looked over at her desk, where a single framed photo of her, Barty, and Regulus was displayed in a glittery frame.

"In fact," continued Hermione, almost fondly, "That black-haired boy? That's Sirius's younger brother. They don't talk much, being in different Houses at Hogwarts, so Sirius used me to bridge that gap."

Petunia nodded, slowly, but Hermione wasn't sure her elder sister understood. "Anyway - don't tell mum or dad, but I've got plans tonight."

Eyes lit up at the source of new gossip. "What?"

Hermione grinned conspiratorially. "I'm meeting with Barty and Reg later and we're going to crash a party. We've been planning it awhile now."

Petunia's mouth dropped open. She leaned forward, eyes wide. " _Really?_ "

Hermione nodded.

"Wow," breathed Petunia, leaning back. She eyed her sister like she had never seen her before. "You will be safe, won't you? You won't have to chase away any slobbering boys from assaulting you, will you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Reg wouldn't kiss me - he's too much a Pureblood for that. I swear, he thinks I have cooties or something. And Barty sees me as a sister."

"Mmm," replied Petunia, unconvinced.

"Oh, honestly, Tuney. As if someone will kiss me at midnight. Don't you know? I'm the know-it-all loner bookworm."

* * *

Despite the more  _sympathetic_  ideologies the Potter kept towards what the majority of Society thought as 'blood traitors,' 'mudbloods' and 'squib riffraff,' they were still in good enough standing to be invited to a large amount of galas, parties, soirees, and - most importantly - the New Years' Ball, this year hosted by the Greengrass family.

Luckily, as Pureblood society deemed those under seventeen to not be legally adults in their world, the "children" were sectioned off from much of the main party where the adults mingled and subtly insult one another based on their looks, financial status, politics, ., until the clock would strike midnight; the children, on the other hand, ranging from eleven to sixteen, were in a different set of rooms.

Except for Sirius and James, of course.

It was just gone nine-thirty, and the two fifteen-year-olds had snuck out from the children's room under the cover of a loud prank (something involving dungbombs, Augustine Selwyn, and the punch bowl). Outside, with warming charms cast on themselves to starve off the chill from the December air, they leaned against the rough brick of the old manor home, pressed tightly to the wall to keep to the shadows in case a nosy adult, or house elf, went looking for them. They kept well out of sight from the gas-lit hanging wall sconces, finding the perfect dark spot between two.

Backs against the brick, they stood on a small cement verandah with a heavy matching balustrade that separated the patio from the well-tended garden and gravel path towards the hothouse. From there, they surveyed the expansive Greengrass gardens and the large hothouse adjacent to the property, filled with exotic and rare specimens, below them. Parallel to the hothouse was a large hedgerow maze, with a large fountain at its center that James and Sirius knew intimately from when the Greengrasses held a summer gala a few years ago.

Sirius dug out a small flask from his dress robe pocket - stylishly mimicking a Muggle cutaway coat much to his mother's ire - and shook it a bit, as he offered it to his friend. "Firewhiskey?"

James reached out and took a swig. Both had been sneaking sips of the whiskey and as James swallowed, it was with minimal eye watering. Sirius grinned, his teeth shining white in the dark.

"Here's to them wiz," toasted Sirius, taking the flask back and raising it briefly. "Prejudiced racist snots the lot of them, but damn do they make good alcohol."

The two snickered, shoving back and forth at one another as they snuck sips of the warm liquid.

"New year, new goals," said Sirius at one point, buzzed but nowhere near sloshed. "Still planning on your never-ending, not-going-anywhere quest to woo fair Lily as we enter 1976?"

James rolled his eyes. "It's going! She talks to me now."

Sirius gave him a bland stare. "Yeah, Prongs. To complain about how you treat Hermione."

"She does not!" he bristled.

"Yeah? Tell me one time where you two had a decent conversation."

"Well - uh… that is -" At Sirius's stare, he wilted. "I can't remember. But I'm sure we've had at least  _one_!"

"Maybe back in first year, before she knew what a tosser you were," laughed Sirius, taking the sting out of his words with a grin and nudge.

James morosely sighed. "What am I doing wrong, Pads? I like to think I'm a good catch of a wizard."

"Right you are, Jimmy-boy," agreed Sirius, nodding. He leaned back and eyed his best friend from head to toe, leering outrageously. "Why, you're handsome - not as handsome as  _me_ , though - and wicked clever with Transfiguration, and funny to boot! What isn't there to like?"

James grinned back at his friend.

"Why," continued Sirius loftily, "I think even at a push we could say that the younger Miss Evans doesn't mind you, and isn't that saying something?"

The Potter heir chuckled. "Hermione is a bit of a prickly one, isn't she?"

"Wet nundu," nodded Sirius sagely.

"She must have kept to herself for most of her time at Hogwarts," mused aloud James, tilting his head up to look at the wide range of stars that spread across the inky sky above them. "Given that I never knew she existed at all before she began tutoring me."

Sirius copied his position, leaning bodily against James so that they were touching from shoulder to hip to leg, one giant shadowy mass hidden against the manor's bricks. "You'd think  _I'd_  have noticed her. I mean -" he broke off and coughed at the glare James sent him. " _I meant_ , Potter - get your head out of the gutter - that she knows Reg. I'd have noticed if she hung out around him often. But I never did. But they're close enough that he pals around with her and that Crouch kid."

"She's pretty talented with magic, too," added James quietly. "But I don't hear the Professors singing her praises like they do Lily's."

"She's more of a wallflower type, I suppose," sighed Sirius, bringing the flask up with the arm that wasn't pressed against his friend. He took a sip. "But does she  _ever_  have a temper!"

"Yeah, she socked you  _good_ ," laughed James, thinking back to the library event.

"Yeah," agreed Sirius, a goofy grin on his face. "Gotta admire a broad like that. I don't think anyone's hit me like that since Reggie did last year after the Quidditch final!"

"Speaking of your brother…" James nudged Sirius back, tilting his chin down and jerking it towards the garden below them.

"Wha…?"

Together, the two Gryffindors leaned forward, peering into the dark. Below, they made out a lean figure edge their way along the gravel path, skirting the edges nearest to the waist-height bushes that lined it. When they reached the entrance to the maze, the figure hugged along the taller hedge until they slipped around the corner.

Immediately, Sirius tucked the flask into his pocket in one move while bounding forward and leaping over the thick balustrade, using it to leapfrog, and landed near silently on his boots in the dewy grass. James scrambled to follow.

" _Sirius_!" he hissed, but his best friend was already halfway down the gravel path, and by the time he caught up with him, Sirius was peering around the hedge.

Without taking his eyes off his brother, Sirius muttered, "He's going 'round the hothouses and towards the back gate of the property. Where are you going, little brother?"

The two snuck across the grounds, slightly hunched over until they were at the edge of the hothouse. They both peered around and saw Regulus glance back, making them duck. Sirius swore.

When they looked again, Regulus was at the gate, looking up at the heavy cement column that bracketed the swinging metal.

"C'mon, Prongs!" Sirius grabbed James' sleeve. "He's probably going to climb the thing and when he does, we'll lose him on the other side! Let's go!"

"Where - do - you - think - he's - going?" panted James as they darted across the grounds.

Sirius shrugged, tossing his wavy hair. "Who knows? But the fact that my perfect baby brother is skipping out on the New Year's party that  _I know for a fact_  my mother wanted him to attend makes this all the more interesting!"

Regulus was, by the time they were two meters away, clambering up the cement block and was pushing himself up on the flat top.

"Oh, little brother!" called Sirius gleefully. "What  _are_  you doing?"

On top of the flat column, Regulus glanced back and winced at the sight of his brother and his brother's best friend. He sighed. "Go  _away_ , Sirius."

"Not gonna happen," replied Sirius flatly, eyeing his brother as he perched on the column. "Just where are you going, Reggie? Because I find it really unbelievable that  _you_  of all people would sneak out from a soiree from under mother's nose."

James could visibly see the strain from Regulus as he bit his lip - a strangely obvious slip from the Slytherin with his naked emotional response. Finally, Regulus's shoulders hunched.

"What do you want, Sirius?"

Sirius, in response, rocked back on his heels. "I want to know where you're going!"

Something flashed in Regulus's eyes - as though he was contemplating what it was worth to lie versus telling the truth - but then he muttered, "New Years' party."

James frowned. "But you're at one now."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Not the one I'd prefer to be at."

"A party filled with your slimy Slytherin friends?" sneered Sirius, guessing where his brother was heading out to. "At some private Pureblood daddy's summer house?"

"... No," replied Regulus slowly. "If you must know, it's a Hufflepuff who's hosting."

James blinked and Sirius's rock back took him so far he actually stumbled. "What?" the Black heir stuttered.

"Look, I'm going to be late enough as it is, and I don't want to miss more than I already have," sighed Regulus. "So, I'm leaving now and I would prefer if you kept this between us and didn't tell mother."

There was a glint in Sirius's eyes as he leaned forward. James stifled a groan. "What's it worth?"

This time, Regulus did groan. "Sirius,  _please_. I'm going now!"

"Oh, yeah, you are," grinned Sirius, "And so are we. C'mon, Prongsie! We're escorting my little brother to this party. A  _'Puff_! Ha! What do you take me for, a fool?"

* * *

"Famous last words, Sirius," muttered Regulus twenty minutes later, as the Slytherin and two Gryffindors stood in the middle of Ottery St. Catchpole, a tiny muggle town.

The town boasted a post office, a small grocer's, a butcher's, two churches, a social club, and three pubs. The furthest pub from the center of town, the Beaver and the Dam, was where the three ended up, following the raucous laughter and brightly dressed wizards and witches in magenta and pink and yellow robes commandeered the premises, much to the confusion of the few muggles at the pub.

James sent a commiserating look to his best friend. "He's got you there, Pads."

"It - it's a New Years' bash," stuttered Sirius in shock, grey eyes darting around. "You weren't joking about it!"

Regulus sent him a nasty look. " _I_  don't joke around."

With that said, he strode forward and into the pub, leaving James and Sirius to scramble after him. Inside, it was loud with music crashing through several speakers, and behind the bar, they could see Amos Diggory, a Hufflepuff who graduated several years ago. The man was laughing and using his wand to make bottles float as he attempted some sort of mixed drink.

The pub itself was crowded; several people were in standing-only room, as the booths and tables were full with a cluster of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and some Slytherins. Both Sirius and James immediately noted that there were no Gryffindors.

"Jimmy!" shouted Sirius over the ambient noise, eyes wide. "How the hell did my brother know about this party? And where did he go?"

James just shook his head, eyes wide behind his glasses as well, as they picked out some familiar halfbloods and muggleborns that he recognized from school - and then his eyes stopped.

"I've found him," replied James.

Sirius spun and asked, "Where?" following James's line of sight, and then his mouth dropped open.

In a dark corner, Regulus was standing with a drink in his hand -  _a_ muggle  _drink_ , Sirius's brain supplied as it shorted out - and happily chatting with none other than Barty Crouch and Hermione Evans.

"Did - did my brother sneak out of a Pureblood party to hang out with his friends in a muggle pub?" asked a rather lightheaded Sirius as he reached forward and heavily clutched at James's shoulder.

His best friend merely nodded.

Slowly, a grin spread across Sirius's face. James could easily see what he was thinking: that Regulus wasn't a lost cause at all.  _"That's my little brother!"_  Sirius cried, and then began heading towards the small group.

James sighed and followed.

* * *

Since Leo and Rose Evans were used to Hermione's rather antisocial ways, as well as her disappearing acts over the years, they thought little of her skipping out of the Evans family New Year's celebrations, as she did that all the time. Her Evans parents instead decided to join Petunia and her boyfriend - not Vernon Dursley just yet, but the barrel-chested Sean from Cokeworth Secondary - and his parents at the local, and Lily decided to join them, as Severus Snape decided to remain at Hogwarts.

Hermione was sure that everyone thought she'd be at home the entire night, curled up with a book, but twenty minutes after they left (including a very obvious wink from Petunia as she loudly stated they were leaving now,  _bye Hermione_!), Hermione had changed into something a bit dressier (wide trousers with a sleeveless blouse she tucked into the high waist of the pants), grabbed a coat, and then held her wand aloft to summon the Knight Bus.

Then she was meeting Barty at the Leaky where he joined her, and then they were speeding to Ottery St. Catchpole, where Hermione was visiting for the first time in this timeline and  _not_  seeing the Weasleys. That was odd.

Barty rubbed his hands gleefully. "Excited?"

Hermione cast him a glance. "To crash a Hufflepuff alum party? Sure."

"What's wrong?" asked Barty, frowning. "Did something happen at home? Did your sister say something to you?" His eyes widened. "Was it about Black? About you  _punching_  him? Or his endless following you around?" Barty's hand clenched into fists. "It's practically harassment! I can't believe McGonagall thought some of it was funny! Stupid Gryffindors."

"No, it wasn't that," explained Hermione patiently, instantly soothing Barty's ruffled feathers. But how to explain that, despite her change in attitude that Barty and Regulus so clearly saw in her, her own parents in this time, failed to recognize? Even Lily - who saw her every day at Hogwarts - seemed to think that Hermione was just as aloof as usual, preferring books to company.

 _How odd that it's Petunia who noticed my clumsy attempts at rejoining the family,_  thought Hermione with a minor frown.

"Oi, stop it with that sad face," said Barty. "We're here, anyway. First pint's on me!"

Hermione joined her friend at the bar, shouted a greeting at Elliott Smith - the Hufflepuff they were on vaguely friendly terms with as he introduced them to a slightly drunk twenty-year-old Amos Diggory - and then retreated to a dark corner with their drinks and wait for Regulus.

"Did something happen at home?" asked Barty eventually, after their silence had gone on too long. He had finished his drink, had found a discarded can, and was working through that.

Hermione shook her head. "It's fine."

"It's not if it's made you moody."

"I am not-!" the token protest turned into a sigh. Hermione put her half-finished drink down and ran her hands through her curls. "Alright, fine, yes. I made a promise to myself that I would… be more social and involved."

Barty eyed her strangely. "You have been."

"At home too," continued Hermione, "And while my father may have seen my attempts, the only person who seemed to realize what I was doing what my elder sister, Petunia."

"Wait - the mean one? The muggle?" Barty's face scrunched up as he tried to remember. "I thought she hated you and your sister."

"Apparently less so than I thought," sighed Hermione. "Anyway - listen, it's going to be a new year. We should celebrate all the amazing things we're going to do in 1976!"

Barty's eyes lit up. "Like cracking nonverbal spells!"

She picked up her drink and clinked it with his, sloshing their ale. "Like transmutation!"

"Like Calypso Fawcett saying yes to a date with me?"

The two spun to see Regulus standing by them; three drink in his hands and a grin on his face as he passed them around. Hermione groaned but took the offered drink, even if she wasn't done her first yet. "Oh, just give it up, Reggie. That girl's never going to say yes to you."

Barty nodded knowing, a slight sway as he mixed his drinks and took two chugs of the dark pint Regulus offered. "I suggest Belinda Smith."

"Smith?" an incredulous voice asked, and Hermione startled. She turned her head and saw the last two people she would ever expect to see come to stand with them in their small corner. Both were dressed completely out of character for the muggle pub, in fashionable wizard's robes, indicating that they had snuck from somewhere, just like Regulus; unlike them, however, Regulus took the time to transfigure his clothing.

Sirius Black was looking back and forth between Regulus, Barty, and Hermione. He finally turned to James. "Isn't she a Hufflepuff?"

Barty nodded emphatically. "She is!"

Regulus scowled. "What is wrong with you? Thinking I'd date a  _Hufflepuff_?"

A passing by woman shot Regulus a nasty look and Barty sniggered into his pint, drowning the rest of the liquid.

Sirius patted his shoulder sympathetically while Regulus's scowl deepened.

"What's wrong with a Hufflepuff?" asked Hermione curiously. But here, all the boys, except Barty who was silently giggling to himself, made a face. "What?"

"It's just that -" began James, looking awkward and then shrugged his shoulders. "Smith  _giggles_  all the time."

"And her perfume makes me sneeze," added Sirius, wrinkling his nose.

Regulus nodded. "And her friends." He shuddered and then turned to Barty to give him stink eye. "Honestly, mate, why would you even  _suggest_  that?"

A tiny spark of chaotic glee lit Barty's eyes. "That girl that passed by? The one earlier?"

"Yes…?" began a cautious Regulus.

"That was Belinda Smith's best friend; who also happens to be Calypso Fawcett's cousin," grinned Barty.

"God damn it, Barty!" barked Regulus, sounding more like Sirius at that moment. "Fuck! I need to find her and do damage control. I even bought a super expensive and proper Yule gift for Calypso to give to her when we return to school…"

Muttering, Regulus turned on his heel and stalked off.

Sirius, uncharacteristically silent, glanced between those remaining and then looking after his younger brother. "I think I'm going to go make sure he doesn't make things worse." He gave an apologetic look at James. "Sorry, mate."

James sighed.

"Barty," said Hermione seriously, "No more beer for you."

She reached out and plucked his empty glance from his hand while he giggled, trying to tug it back. "What? Hermione,  _nooooo_."

James sighed. "Lightweight."

"Sorry," said Hermione, but it was slightly mocking. "We Ravenclaws don't pull out all the stops for our house parties like you Gryffindors do."

James mocked surprise, bringing a hand to his chest. "'Claws have  _parties?_  How ever do you find the time to be away from your precious books?"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes and Barty swayed.

"'Mione?" he muttered. "I don't feel so good."

"Jesus, Barty, you  _are_  a lightweight," admonished Hermione. "Don't embarrass me now in front of Potter. What happened to last summer when we finished that entire bottle of Odgen's at your lake house?"

Barty's face turned green at the memory. He shoved at James, who stumbled back as the younger teen pushed away from the crowd.

" _Annnnd_  another one bites the dust," sighed Hermione.

"Oh!" said James, grinning, "That's clever."

Hermione frowned as she tried to think what he was referring to, and then audibly groaned. "And won't make sense for another four years."

"What?"

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind."

The two stood in silence for a bit, and Hermione wrestled with the urge to sigh and cast a  _tempus_  to know how close it was to midnight. This was  _not_  going how she thought her night would. Crashing Diggory's bash was boring without her friends.

"So. Um. Did you have a good Yule?"

Startled, Hermione turned back to James, who was awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. She eyed him for a moment but then said, slowly, "Yeah. It was fine."

"And your parents? And - elder sister, right?"

Hermione nodded again. "They're good."

"And Lily?"

"She's good, too," answered Hermione, watching James nervously look around. "And how was your Yule, Potter?"

"What? Oh. Um, it was... good," he finished lamely.

Hermione snorted and he closed his eyes in mortification.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know why it's so easy to talk to you at school but here-"

"It's fine," replied Hermione automatically, but at the word, she caught James's hazel eyes and then they were both laughing. The tense air around them diffused.

The grin James gave her was decidedly lopsided. Hermione felt her breath catch - it was exactly the same as Harry's bashful, genuine smile. Her eyes went wide.

"So, what do you say?"

"I'm sorry, what?" blinked Hermione, having missed what James said first.

His lopsided smile stretched, and he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Want to dance?" he repeated.

Hermione looked at James, and then the packed pub floor where some had pushed tables and chairs aside for a makeshift dance floor.

"I-" she broke off and saw his face begin to fall and his chin duck down. "Okay."

His head popped up quickly, and that lopsided smile turned into a full grin. "Great! Okay! Right! Let's go!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd, where others were moving back and forth to the upbeat song. They both stood frozen for a moment, and then someone bumped into James and he stumbled into Hermione and then they were laughing and he was shifting back and forth.

He was a  _terrible_  dancer.

Hermione laughed loudly and then James was grinning at her. "What?" he shouted and then began swinging his arms back and forth in exaggerated moves to the upbeat disco beat. He did a little spin on his heels and she laughed again.

"You're ridiculous!" she shouted at him.

He wriggled his eyebrows and did another spin, his glasses nearly flying off his face as he went too fast. Hermione caught him as he stumbled to a stop, his hands coming up to rest on his glasses.

Somehow, they ended up remaining on the dance floor for a few more songs, James doing incredibly exaggerated, and sweeping steps that made people give them a wide berth, so Hermione followed along. She hadn't had this much fun dancing since the TriWizard tournament!

As the Hustle came on, James's eyebrows did another wriggle and then he was reaching for Hermione, his hand on hers and leading her through several perfect dance steps that were a mix of disco and the waltz.

There was a quick step, and then he turned her and they were back to back and she spun out again, laughing, until she was in front of him and he was behind her. She did the silliest move she remembered from television, dipping her finger across her body and up in the air while he did the same move behind her, but opposite.

They were gathering a crowd, and Hermione could spot the incredulous face of Regulus, staring at her with his mouth open. At his brother's side, Sirius had a drink and was cheering them on along with the crowd, throwing his arms up and catcalling.

When the song finished, Hermione breathlessly turned to James and said, "Thanks for that."

He grinned down at her, sweat beaded along his hairline. His fringe was sticking slightly to his forehead but the rest of his hair defied gravity and remained a mess. "For what?"

"Reminding me what fun is like," she said, then flushed thinking she said too much.

There was a softening in James's eyes, but before he could reply, Sirius came bounding to them, arms around James's shoulders, and then others were on the floor and she was dancing with James, Sirius, a Hufflepuff girl she didn't know too well, and the conversation was forgotten.

"COUNTDOWN TIME," shouted Diggory over the noise of the music, causing the crowd to cheer as they turned toward the bar where Diggory stood on top of it with Elliott Smith who had a bottle of something in one hand and a crown lopsided on his head as they led the countdown.

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

Hermione caught Regulus's eyes as he resignedly joined her near his brother, and she threw an arm around him, hugging him to her side. His grey eyes lightened in amusement and she shouted, "Where's Barry?"

"Toilets," he shouted back, with a grin. "Drank too much!"

Hermione shook her head fondly at the thought of her friend. "We'll rescue him soon."

Regulus nodded.

"FOUR! THREE! TWO!"

Then Sirius was there, pulling his brother to him and giving him a smacking kiss on his head as "ONE!" reverberated through the pub, with loud cheers and the blowing of kazoos. One very drunk wizard had confetti shoot from his wand, but the muggles were too drunk to notice where the falling paper was coming from.

Hermione hugged Regulus next, kissing him on the cheek as Sirius and James were pressed cheek to cheek and hugging. The crowd began singing Auld Lang Syne, and Hermione turned to James, ready to hug him too.

But the grinning Gryffindor had other plans, caught up in the exuberance of the atmosphere, and pulled Hermione towards him sharply.

He leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underaged drinking is a no-no. /PSA over.
> 
> Also: *evil cackles*. Thus begins canon divergence. :) Remember, this is a slow burn too, folks!


	7. What's the Future Looking like?

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

VII

* * *

"Even people capable of living in the past don't really know what the future holds."

-  _11/22/63_ , Stephen King

* * *

It was as everything froze. The ability to think, to breathe, to move. Hermione was still, unable to do  _anything_  except inhale - the scent of peppermint, spice - and taste - ale - and feel - warm lips on hers.

Hermione opened her eyes, and stared straight into James' as he slowly pulled back from her. His eyelashes fluttered just a bit, and then -

His were wide, the hazel shine to them surprised by his actions; they reflected her own amber, both of them just  _staring_  and unsure of what to do next. A light from a disco ball reflected off his glasses, and for the first time in a long time, Hermione didn't compare James to Harry - because quite honestly, Harry  _never_  looked that baffled when staring at her.

His hands were warm on her back, and their stomachs were pressed together, their chests brushing against one another as they breathed. James's mouth opened, and he blinked, but he couldn't form any words.

In a moment, sound came rushing back and there was noise everywhere as people were cheering, singing, to Auld Lang Syne or to the lyrics of the next song that was playing as they ushered in 1976.

"Hermione - I -"

Then Sirius was there, tipsy, hooking an arm around James's shoulder and making him stumble back and away from her as he laughing jeered, "Yeah, wrong Evans, mate!"

Hermione blinked - once - and then spun on her heel and pushed through the throng of sweaty people on their dance floor.

"Oi, what's her problem?"

James's eyes flicked to his friend, and there was a weak grin on his face as he chuckled, but it dropped quickly. He felt breathless and wasn't sure why. "Dunno. Hey - where's your brother?"

Sirius shrugged, eyes trailing to follow a girl in a short, short skirt. "Dunno. Lost him after I said Happy New Year."

"Listen, let's leave, yeah?" said James, reaching up and tugging at the collar of his stiff robes. He cleared his throat. He no longer felt comfortable in what he was wearing. "Let's head back to the Manor."

Sirius shrugged, but they left.

But he didn't feel like he could breathe when they were outside, either.

Strange.

* * *

Hermione pushed into the men's toilet, a single room occupied only by a very green Barty. He wearily looked up from where he was curled up around the toilet, his eyes beady. "'Mione?"

"Hey bestie," said Hermione, dropping to the floor next to him and smoothing his sweaty fringe from his forehead. He leaned into her cool hand. "You really did a number on yourself, didn't you?"

" _Mmm_ ," he moaned, turning back to point his face at the basin.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't think I'm going to be able to get you home this way. Maybe you should spend the night at Reggie's?"

Barty shook his head weakly. "His mum'll freak. He was supposed to be at the Greengrass's all evening. He's probably gone back anyway."

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Well… there's nothing else for it then."

"... wha?"

"You're coming home with me tonight and we're going to sneak you in," declared Hermione. "Can you stand?"

Barty groaned but gamely wobbled to his feet with Hermione supporting him. Her best friend was tall and gangly and leaned heavily on her as they slowly stumbled forward. Before exiting the toilet, Hermione took advantage of the numerous wizards in the area to cast a mouth-freshening charm on Barty, as well as straightening his clothes and cleaning them of sweat.

It was hard, making their way through the crowd, but a rather amused - and drunk - Elliot Smith noticed them and helped Hermione by taking Barty's other side until they were around the back of the pub, near a large skip, to call the Knight Bus.

Barty managed to hold on to the contents of what was left in his stomach by the time they arrived in Cokeworth, near the mining quarry and well away from any NYE revellers in town. It was, however, some distance to the Evans household, past several winding lanes to the terraced estates, but Hermione was determined to get Barty there. Luckily, the air cleared Barty's nausea and by the time they made it to the nearest houses, he was only leaning on his friend as they walked.

It was only half an hour later when they were taking a slow walk past the town center. There were still parties going on in the three pubs in town, including the carvery and community center. Hermione and Barty blended right in with those standing outside smoking or laughing with their friends. They were just another drunk couple on their way home.

Except -

" _Hermione_?"

Hermione tensed and twisted, Barty swearing as he went with her. They came to a stop at ninety degrees from where they started, with Hermione staring with wide eyes at her eldest sister surrounded by several others.

Petunia was wearing a nicely dressed floral dress, tights, and a light cardigan, her arm looped through a tall, burly close-cropped blond who was looking at them quizzically. Around them were others, similar in height to the teen she was with and a few girls in sparkly dresses.

"Oh.  _Heeeeeeeeey_ ," greeted Hermione, drawing out the vowel. "Tuney." She glanced at the building behind them and nearly sighed as she realized Petunia and her friends ditched their parents and Lily to visit the pub instead of remaining at the rec center.

"Who's this, Pet?" asked the tall blond, glancing between the two girls and the dopey Barty that hung off Hermione.

"Hey," greeted Barty, smiling widely in his usual, manic way. He extended a hand, although it was pointed more at the concrete than at the blond. "I'm Barty! Junior! I'm Hermione's  _best_  friend!"

Petunia's eyebrows were hidden behind her fringe. "You know, when you said you were crashing a party with your friends, I really didn't think this was how the night would end."

Hermione shrugged but merely dislodged Barty, who grumbled. "Neither did I."

"Hey mate," the blond said, stepping from Petunia's side and helping take Barty off Hermione. "Where are you going?"

"Yes, 'Mione," drawled Petunia, crossing her arms and looking eerily like their mother. "Where  _were_  you going?"

"Petunia, do you know these two?" one of the girls asked.

"This is my little sister and a friend of hers from her school," explained Petunia, sighing.

"The freaky one?" asked another girl, shocked. She squinted at Hermione from behind very thick eyelashes. "I thought she was ginger."

Petunia shook her head and Hermione stared hard at her sister.

"So where are we taking them?" asked the blond. He slightly jostled a still grinning Barty. "And this one, especially?"

"I was going to smuggle Barty into the house," finally admitted Hermione. " _Not_  my best plan, I will admit. He mixed his drinks and spent most of the night in the toilet."

The blond winced sympathetically.

"Blimey, mate," said the blond.

Petunia started saying goodbye to her friends, and the girls, who seemed not to care much for Lily by the sound of it, gave Hermione some cold, but polite, goodbyes as they paired off. The blond holding Barty remained, as did Petunia obviously.

"'Mione, you know he can't stay with us," said Petunia, looking at Barty again. For her first experience with a teenage wizard who wasn't Severus Snape, Petunia was handling herself well. "Why can't he go home?"

Hermione bit her lip. "His dad is really,  _really_  high up in the government," she improvised with the non-magical equivalent. "He'd get into a lot of trouble, and when I suggested our other friends' house, we both decided that was not a good idea, given how traditional his mother is."

Petunia sighed.

"He can sleep things off at mine," suggested the blond, making Petunia turn to him in surprise. "Honestly, I don't mind, Pet. It is your little sister's best friend. I think I can trust him."

Petunia fretted. "Sean, that's very kind of you, but what if he -? If he -" she turned to Hermione and flapped her hands. "-uses  _you know_?"

Sean's own eyebrows jumped up. " _You know_?" he echoed in disbelief.

Hermione snorted. "I think he's going to sleep and then eat a lot. He's not in his right mind for anything else, Tuney, and Barty's in the same house as me. He's very smart."

Barty turned to Hermione, lolling his head on Sean's shoulder as he beamed at her. "I love you, too, 'Mione!"

Hermione reached over and patted Barty's cheek affectionately.

Petunia's eyes moved between the two, a calculating look at her, but she slowly nodded. Turning to her boyfriend, whom Hermione could now put a face to the name, she asked, "Are you sure, Sean?"

He nodded.

"Alright then," she replied, standing on her toes to kiss her boyfriend's cheek, whispering her goodbyes.

Then, Sean was turning to Hermione with Barty facing her too and grinning. "Nice to meet you, Hermione! I promise I'll take care of this one and bring 'im by tomorrow. Probably for lunch."

"Thanks." Hermione tried not to grin as Barty perked up and muttered, "Food?"

Hermione and Petunia watched as Sean dragged an enthusiastic Barty from the pub and in the opposite direction of where they lived, expertly drawing Barty's attention away from the neon signs in shop windows or very Muggle things.

Once they turned the corner, Petunia turned to her sister. "How were you planning on getting back into the house? Everyone thinks you're still there."

"The front door's lock can be jimmied," replied Hermione nonchalantly. "I learned how to pick it years ago. No one really questioned where I would disappear off to, and sometimes mum or Lily would lock the door forgetting I was at the library, or the rec center, or in the park. So I learned to make do."

Something flashed across Petunia's face, but it was gone quickly. "Well let's go back now. If someone asks, you stepped out for a walk and we bumped into each other."

They were silent for some time, Petunia hugging herself to keep warm. Eventually, Hermione demurred, "I'm sorry we interrupted your evening with Sean and your friends."

Petunia waved a very thin hand at her sister. "It's fine. I'm seeing Sean tomorrow anyway." She paused and glanced at Hermione, saying, "Besides, you're my sister. You come first."

"It didn't  _quite_  sound that way with regards to Lily," Hermione said quietly. She kept her tone light and nonjudgmental to see how Petunia would respond. "I'm not blind to how you two fight."

Petunia's mouth flattened into a thin line. "My… disagreement with Lily doesn't really have to do with you."

"So what is it?" asked a curious Hermione, who had kept out of much of the fights in her earlier years by just not physically being around her family as much as she could - at home or at Hogwarts. She often felt like an interloper in this new time. "Is it… about Hogwarts?"

Petunia sighed, hugging herself tighter and hunching a bit. It took Hermione a moment to realize how tall and willowy Petunia was, and wondered if her self-conscious sister even realized she could probably model if she wanted.

"A little bit," admitted the eldest Evans child. "And not really."

Hermione waited for Petunia to continue, which she eventually did.

"I had this… this entire idea in my mind that we would all go to secondary together. I would be a guide for you and Lily, having already gone through everything," she said quietly, green eyes down on the ground. "Isn't that the purpose of a big sister? To guide you? To protect you? To be there for her little sisters, no matter what?"

She shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing a bit. "I feel like not only did  _I_  miss out on doing all those big sister things I had planned with you and Lily, but I was cheated out of it with magic. Both of you have the abilities and spend your time together at -  _that_ school - and I can't be there. I can't help you with homework, or with boys, or the social pecking order. So what good am I?"

Hermione blinked in shock.  _I never knew-!_

"And then  _precious Lily_  comes home, and it's all about how amazing she's doing, who her friends are, and the pranks played on her by this," Petunia affected her voice, " _super cool and popular sport player_  that she apparently can't stand because he bullies that Snape boy - and I - I -" she broke off, shrugging bitterly. "Where's my place in Lily's life? In your life?"

"Well," said Hermione slowly as she absorbed this new information in shock. "If it makes you feel any better, I rarely see or speak to Lily at school."

Petunia actually stopped walking to stare at her. "Wait - what?"

Hermione shrugged. "We're in different houses. I think she explained it once before? Yeah, anyway - I'm in Ravenclaw and she's in Gryffindor and has all these friends while I just keep to myself or hang out with Barty and Reggie. I also skipped like, three years in two courses, so that hardly made friends when you're a fourteen-year-old surrounded by seventeen-year-olds."

"But," sputtered Petunia as they started walking again, "Don't you have those - civvies days? In town?"

"Which I spend at the castle, doing my own research while Lily goes on dates," answered Hermione in a very matter-of-fact voice.

"Doesn't she try to sit with you at meals? Or you with her? Surely there are no rules against  _that_?"

"Maybe once in a while she comes over, but honestly I think most people don't realize we're related. After all, I don't look like her."

Petunia snorted - and the sound, so unladylike, had Hermione staring at her. "Oh please, don't look at me like that.  _None_  of us looks anything alike in terms of hair colour. Both of us have the curls, but Lily doesn't; Lily and I share mother's eyes, but you have father's. You and Lily have magic, and I don't. And all three of us have different hair colours." She squinted and sniffed. "But you do have some red in yours, I suppose."

"Erm. Thanks?"

They had reached their street, and with certain daintiness, Petunia pulled out their keys from her purse. Before they went in, Petunia stopped Hermione by grabbing onto her upper arm and holding on.

"I was never upset with you," she said, strongly enough that Hermione started.

"I never thought-"

"I know you didn't like how I treated Lily," said Petunia, her mouth twisting. "Calling her a freak and ignoring her."

Hermione squirmed a bit in her sister's grip. "Well, it wasn't very nice-"

"I know," snapped Petunia. Then she sighed. "I  _know_. It's hard enough dealing with my own jealousy and unhappiness and then seeing her come back so happy about that - that  _place_  and going on about that boy-"

 _Snape?_  wondered Hermione.

"-but she also took you away. I guess I always thought that she was doing what  _I_  wanted to do for you both at Hogwarts." Petunia's eyes shifted away. "But I saw you this holiday - how you acted, and how she acted." Petunia looked at Hermione. "Does she even know you at all?"

 _Do any of you?_  thought Hermione, slightly uncharitably. When had they all given up on her? On knowing their daughter, their sister? Why did it bother her  _now_? She had pushed them all away first.

But -  _but_  - a tiny voice in her head went:  _Barty and Regulus stood by your side and pushed through. Why didn't they?_

"I'm sorry," said Petunia, breaking into Hermione's thoughts. Her head jerked up in surprise to see Petunia's toying with the key. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better sister."

"So am I," replied Hermione quietly.

Petunia's lips slowly turned up in a gentle smile. "New year, new us?"

Hermione's smile matched hers. "New year," she agreed, "new us."

* * *

Barty made it home safely the following day, beginning 1976 with a wicked hangover that he couldn't explain away to his mother or her knowing stare. Luckily, his father had been out, dealing with the fallout of some very drunk wizards and Muggle-baiting, he wrote to Hermione, that he never knew that his son wasn't even home for New Years.

Regulus had also made it home safely, citing that he skipped out on the Greengrass's early to his mother's displeasure, while Sirius kept silent and merely stared at his younger brother as if he had never seen him before. (Regulus wrote that every so often, Sirius would waggle his eyebrows at him from behind their mother's back, like they shared some amazing secret. The younger Black was thoroughly fed up.)

The winter term for Hogwarts began on a chilly January with frosted windows and a bitter, Arctic wind that kept students inside their common rooms, huddled near the fireplaces - except for Hermione. It was Friday, and she and James had a study date. OWLs were only five months away!

Hermione was set up, tapping her quill impatiently. Potter had never been late since their first tutoring session, so she was mildly concerned and annoyed.

Finally, he swept in; his hair in disarray and heavily sat in the seat across from her in their tiny nook. "Merlin, I am  _so sorry_  -" he blushed and fluffed up his hair some more. "Things were - I wasn't sure - it's been -"

Hermione stared. "Are you  _blushing_? Did my sister finally say yes to a date or something?"

His flush deepened. "I - ah - no -"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Alright…" she then pulled out and flipped her Arithmancy text to the correct chapter, and extended her hand over the table towards James, her palm up as she made 'gimme' motions with her hand.

He stared at her hand for a long moment.

" _Merlin_ , Potter," said Hermione exasperatedly, "What is  _with_  you? Your homework? From Yule break?"

His hazel eyes snapped up to hers and widened behind his glasses.

"Oh! Yes! Right!" he then scrambled to turn in the seat to check his shoulder bag and began pulling out bits and bobs and putting them on the table while Hermione's incredulous stare made her eyes grow wide.

"Potter."

He immediately paused.

"Your homework?"

He cleared his throat and finally pulled out his textbook, with the homework in between the cover and first page. Although she was unsure what was going with him, she squinted and frowned, and then resolved to ignore it, going over his past homework and notes.

Across from her, Potter fidgeted, twisting his fingers around, bringing his wand out and tapping it on the table, and then eventually pulling a snitch from his bag and tossing it in the air and catching it before it zipped down one of the aisles.

The glint of the snitch caught Hermione's attention as she finished checking his homework, and she glanced up. He wasn't even paying her attention, just focused on absently catching the snitch while his thoughts turned inward. There was a small smile on his face.

 _How many times have I heard Lily complain about him playing with "that stupid snitch" at home? He must be thinking of her_ , thought Hermione, rolling her eyes. She dropped her quill and nonverbally had her homework neatly roll up, flying over towards him.

He jumped at the scroll rested on his open textbook, glancing down at it and then back at her. "How - how did I do?"

Hermione felt a true, and fond, smile creep onto her lips. "Well, I think you'll do just acceptable, Potter."

He looked horrified. "An  _A_? That's it after all the work we've put into this?"

"For your OWL? Yeah," answered Hermione. "But if we keep this up? By May? I can see you getting an O."

" _Really_?" a grin split his face, and his eyes sparkled. He put the snitch into his bag and leaned across the table.

"Really," nodded Hermione. "I think we can call tonight to an end, and start up with your fifth-year material next week."

"I-" he broke off, his grin turning lopsided. He stood, shoving his homework into his bag, along with his text. "Thank you, Hermione! I couldn't' do this without you!"

Hermione stood too, shrugging her shoulders. "You're doing all the hard work, Potter, take some credit."

Without realizing it, he stepped forward and hugged her tightly. Hermione stiffened in shock, arms at her sides and eyes wide. He felt her response and stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

"Merlin - I'm sorry -" and he truly was, as he looked down in frustration and stepped further back.

Hermione cleared her throat and choked out, "Yeah, it's fine-"

"No, it's not-" he was red again.

Hermione stopped and peered at him, watching his body language as he shifted from foot to foot, his blush extending up to redden his ears. Suddenly, his behaviour was making sense. "Potter - is this about New Years?"

His face went as red as his Gryffindor jumper.

She sighed. "Look - it was - it meant nothing, right? You fancy my sister, everyone knows that. Like Sirius said - wrong Evans. It's totally cool." She even waved a hand to illustrate how nonchalant she was about having her first kiss in this time by him. Not like  _he_  knew that.

Something in Potter stilled as she spoke, and his blush receded a bit. "Erm. Yes. Yes - that's right. Lily. Lily Evans, that is."

"Cool," replied Hermione. She picked up her school bag and slung it over her shoulder. "In that case, I'm heading out. Got other things to do. See you around, Potter."

"Yeah, see you, Hermione," he croaked out.

* * *

Two weeks later, as January came to a close, and Hermione read a letter from Petunia (…  _I'm thinking London, but it's so far away, isn't it? Do you think mummy and daddy will let me go? I think this is what I really want to do and pursue…),_  Lily stopped by the Ravenclaw table at dinner.

"Hey Hermy," she greeted, sliding onto the bench.

"No," replied Hermione, not looking up from the letter while Barty's slid back and forth, absently mixing his mash and peas into one lumpy pile.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!" the Gryffindor protested.

Hermione glanced up this time. "I won't do anything anyway if you're going to call me 'Hermy.'"

Lily sighed. "Fine. Anyway - I wanted to ask you a question."

"Is it about school?" asked Hermione, frowning. "Because you're a year ahead of me. I really don't think I can help you."

"No - it's not -"

"Then is it about - you know - something personal?" Hermione's eyes slid to the Gryffindor table. "Because you're a year ahead of me. I really don't think I can help you unless it's in seventh-year material for Arithmancy or Charms, the latter which you're practically a savant in."

Lily scowled. " _No_ , it's -"

"Have mum or dad sent an owl? Tuney's been pretty consistent in writing me this term, but she didn't mention anything…"

"No, it's not mum and dad - wait," surprise flitted across Lily's face. " _Tuney's_  writing you?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Yeah. Don't you write to her? She's not bad in replying quickly."

"What? She  _does_? I mean - no, I haven't written her in years -" Lily shook her head. "Ugh, stop trying to change the topic. I'm trying to ask you about Potter!"

Barty choked on his roast.

" _Potter?_ " replied Hermione incredulously, snapping her book shut and staring at Lily in surprise. "What about him? I thought you can't stand him."

"I  _can't_ ," emphasized Lily strongly, ducking her head a bit to stare at her sister. Hermione felt riveted in her sister's emerald eyes. "But - you are still tutoring him weekly, right?"

Hermione slowly nodded.

"Right, right. So… have you noticed… anything...  _weird_  with him lately?" continued Lily.

Hermione frowned. "Weird, how?"

Lily sighed, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. It gleamed in the candlelight. "I'm not sure. But - something's changed. I can't put my finger on it. I just thought you'd notice and know since you see him often."

"He's in  _your_ house," pointed out Barty acidly. "You see him more than she does."

Lily pursed her lips, turning away from Barty to face Hermione instead. "Look, can you just - I don't know - keep an eye out?" her eyes narrowed. "I bet he's planning something big on the Slytherins sometime soon."

"Erm," began Hermione, sharing a look with Barty who then rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure he's not - but yeah… sure…"

"Great!" Lily's mood changed from her deep scowl to a bright smile. She leaned forward and bussed Hermione on the cheek, leaving the Ravenclaw table as quickly as she arrived. "Thanks, Hermy!"

Hermione scowled this time. " _Not. Hermy._ "

She was silent, staring at her plate for several long moments before Barty asked, "What was the purpose in that?"

Frowning, Hermione turned partially in her seat to glance over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table; while she normally had her back to them, opting to face Slytherin and Regulus at his table, both she and Barty were keenly aware of the Marauders at meal times in case of unfortunate pranks.

The four were clustered together, whispering and laughing as they ate dinner. Sirius was animated, waving his hands around as he used a fork to demonstrate something. Pettigrew was hanging on the Black heir's every word, while Lupin interjected something that made Potter snort and laugh, banging his hand on the table.

 _What is Lily on about? There's nothing different with Potter,_  she thought, eyes narrowed.

As if hearing her thoughts, Potter looked up and caught her eyes. He grinned, mouthing, " _Alright?_ " to her.

She nodded.

Holding her gaze, his grin widened, and he reached up and ran a hand through his hair, making it messier than before. Then, he turned back to his friends, and Hermione turned around to face the proper way on their table.

"I think I should take my sister to the hospital wing," said Hermione to Barty, shaking her head. "Clearly, Lily is losing her mind."  _The stress of OWLs was getting to her._

Barty was silent, eyes flickering between the Gryffindor table and her, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Yeah…" he agreed slowly. "Sure."

But Hermione put it out of her mind. She had other things to worry about.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the guest on FFnet for the best Sirius response to the kiss! It was perfect so I had to use it.
> 
> To the other guest on FFnet who asked about Horcruxes and Voldemort – currently, Hermione's in a 14-year-old body while her mind is in its 40s. She's not equipped to go out and fight, and until recently, she wasn't even sure if she should. However, her exploration into transmutation will play an important role later in the story, especially in regards to Voldemort, Death Eaters, prophecies, and Horcruxes. :)
> 
> Also, I was supposed to write the next chapter to Cursed Be this Soul but I saw Crazy Rich Asians and To All the Boys I Loved Before over the weekend and was inspired to write this chapter listening to the TAtBILB soundtrack. That film was perfect, especially Lauv's "I Like Me Better" song. I honestly wrote this chapter in about 4 hours, listening to that on repeat.
> 
> (As a side note, this is primarily a rom/com crack fic. Plot is somehow working its way in, though.)


	8. Heavy is the Future

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

VIII

* * *

 **Doc** : This is more serious than I thought. Apparently, your mother is amorously infatuated with you instead of your father.

 **Marty** : Whoa, wait a minute, Doc. Are you trying to tell me that my mother has got the hots for me?

 **Doc** : Precisely!

 **Marty** : Whoa, this is heavy.

 **Doc** : There's that word again: " _heavy_." Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the Earth's gravitational pull?

-  _Back to the Future_  (1985)

* * *

Like most Januarys straight through to June, time passed quickly - so much so that the entire five months disappeared in a blink. One moment, Hermione was studying in the library for her upcoming NEWT exams in Arithmancy and Charms, her two favourite classes, spending time with Barty and Regulus, researching and practicing her own form of transmutation and wandless magic, and tutoring Potter in Arithmancy.

After her breakthrough with the flower, Hermione found herself back in the Room of Requirements with her (fake) Harry watching her curiously, as she paced, muttering to herself under her breath as her brain jumped from one idea to the next, her synapses firing hotly.

Her understanding of transmutation was growing rapidly. She was far beyond her research back in her future - alternate timeline? - which made a part of her squirm in happiness, and the rest made her annoyed at the slow progression.

"I think you're over thinking this," said Harry. His image flickered for a moment, and then he was no longer standing, watching her placidly, but sitting on what looked like a replica of a Gryffindor armchair - one she was familiar with, in her other life, and its placement by the fire and in which she and her friends would often congregate around.

"I thought we agreed that I'm the brains of this operation," muttered Hermione, tugging on a curl. Her eyes cut to her friend.

Harry sighed. "You're frustrated with your lack of advancement. I understand that."

" _Because you're me_ ," muttered Hermione darkly.

Harry blithely ignored her. "Let's break it down, shall we? When you're stuck, and you don't know what to do next - what do you do, Hermione?"

Hermione stopped pacing, turned to Harry, and together they said, "We break it down into smaller parts."

He grinned at her, and she felt her lips quirking up into a smile, too.

With a sigh, she bounded over to him in his chair. An identical one popped into existence opposite him, and Hermione slid in it as the room shifted from a large white space to an eerie replica of the Gryffindor Common Room from their time, right down to the scorch marks Seamus left after another failed water-into-wine attempt.

"So," began not-Harry, leaning forward in his seat as his ankle crossed over the opposite knee and he steeped his fingertips together. "Basics. Begin with that. What do you know about magic?"

Hermione sighed at the simplicity - and complexity - of the question. "Magic is a form of energy that each witch or wizard has."

"Very  _Star Wars_ ," replied Harry, a mocking glint in his eyes behind his frames. He warped between fourteen-year-old him and the much older forty-something Hermione knew him as, grey at his temples.

"Shut up."

"Is that what magic really is, though?"

Hermione frowned. "I… guess not."

"Is it merely just in magical folk?" continued Harry.

"Well… isn't it?" replied back Hermione. "We use magic, we cast spells. They dissipate once the magic is used up because it completes its purpose."

"Yes," agreed Harry, "But of our school? This Room? Permanent magic? Is it because it has been soaked up over countless years?"

Hermione frowned. She reached up and began playing with a curl. "No… I don't think so."

"So magic has some sort of permanence," continued Harry. "That's the difference between transfiguration and transmutation, right?"

"Yes," nodded Hermione, speaking slowly. "Transfiguration is the changing of one thing to another for a temporary state because it remains in its original form at the molecular level despite the outward physical changes. Transmutation is the changing of one thing into another  _completely_  where it is changed from one state of being to another."

"And if that's the case, the magic can't  _just_  come from the witch or wizard casting it, can it?" asked a smug Harry as he leaned back.

Hermione blinked. "No. No, it can't."

"Because magic from a witch or wizard would dissipate after a while," continued Harry.

"Which means there is ambient magic!" grinned Hermione, to which Harry nodded. Then, Hermione's grin slid slowly into a resting face as she thought. "But… where is the magic coming from?"

"Think about it," urged Harry. "Think of moments of great magic - monuments, buildings, rooms. Objects of power. Feats of strength."

So Hermione turned her thoughts inward and thought of what Harry requested of her. She thought first of the Room of Requirement, as it was the easiest given she was currently using it. The history of the Room was unknown - but potentially one of the Hogwarts founders had created it, using Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, and other work. The magic itself should have faded over time, but Hogwarts - by extension - soaked up ambient magic over the centuries until the Room became mildly sentient. That suggested that magic had its own ideas and behaved beyond its Arithmetic and Runic formulations.

Another example of semi-sentient magic was the Goblet of Fire; an object of power that was used to bind Harry in the TriWizard Tournament. Hermione drew back to the moment of Harry's name being called and frowned.

Her eyes slipped closed, and her brow furrowed. She could picture the Great Hall perfectly: the bobbing and dipping of the floating candles above her that Halloween, the shadows dancing on the edges of the hall, as they grew longer. The bright, vibrant colour of Dumbledore's robes as he spread his arms and began calling out familiar names of people she knew well; and when he read Harry's, she waited for the familiar shock and horror to spread through her, as the memory always prompted.

It failed to arrive.

Her frown deepened into a scowl.  _I distinctly remember my look of shock and horror that Harry's name came out of the Goblet. So why aren't I getting the echoes of those feelings?_

She then thought of later that night, Ron's jealousy, her incredulity toward Ron and the situation, even Harry's bitterness and her fear for him. She could  _remember_  having felt the emotions, but as she squished her eyes shut tight, nearly vibrating with intensity at trying to remember those moments, she could not muster the emotional connection.

"What…" her eyes popped open and she looked at a rather somber Harry across from her. "What is happening to my memories?"

"It's like you said - they're memories," the room-supplied Harry answered, his voice slightly flat and monotone. "Memories of a different time. Of a different you."

"Those memories  _made me_!" snarled Hermione. "Did you - did the magic that brought me here - did it take those from me?!"

"I did not," replied Harry, in that same flat tone.

 _This is not me supplying the room now,_  thought Hermione, eyeing the new Harry carefully. This was something older… stronger, than what she mustered up as her sounding board and conscience.

The Room continued. "You experienced a significant trauma, one that involved magic at its most pure. It brought you here. Here, where you can do the most. For the people, the timeline as you know it. But you cannot do that with your emotional attachments."

Hermione bristled.  _Emotional attachments?!_

Sensing her thoughts, the Room supplied, "Yes, your memories make you who you are, Hermione Granger/Hermione Evans-" it was like the two names were said at once, mangling her last name, layered with a strange dual, vibrating tone "-and those cannot be taken from you. But the trauma you experienced as a child while here at Hogwarts, and during your War, can be."

"You - You did what?" asked a flabbergasted Hermione, eyes wide and mouth open.

"I did not." The reply was flat and strange but slightly affronted. "I am just another vessel."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "To what purpose was the removal of my emotions to those memories?" Fear made her eyes widen. "Will I- will I begin to forget my feelings for Harry and Ron? Ginny? George? The Weasleys, or Andromeda or Teddy? Will they stop having meaning in my life?"

"They will not. They  _should_  not," the Room replied, gently as its monotone voice softened. "They are a part of you, no matter when you are. You will just be removed from the emotions to ensure you are not crippled by them now."

At Hermione's blank stare, the Room-Harry sighed. "You must live more in the present; immerse yourself here and in the now. Not in your past and their future. That time is gone. Your yesterdays are to be your tomorrows - what has happened once may not happen again. Or it might. Time is not a straight line."

"I'm well aware of how time travel works, thank you," snipped Hermione.

"Are you?" that Harry raised his eyebrows in a condescending manner and Hermione wrinkled her nose. "If you are, then how did you come to be here, not as Hermione Granger, but as Hermione Evans?"

"I-" Hermione snapped her mouth shut.  _Okay, so I don't have an answer to that._

Not-Harry looked knowingly at her, and then his face… softened from its edges and the blank look he wore turned back into the slightly impish one she remembered.

"Did you think of them? What did those feats of magic and objects of power help you conclude?" he asked, as though the past ten minutes never happened.

Hermione cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in the chair as she realized she was quite literally in the belly of one such place of power. Awkwardly, she said, "Yeah. I think I understand."

Room- and memory-supplied Harry beamed at her. "Brilliant. So your conclusion is…?"

 _This place is fucking weird, and I will never fully understand magic,_  thought a grim Hermione, but she gamely replied, "Magic is everywhere. In everything. It's about  _access_."

"And understanding," nodded Harry in agreement. "You  _understand_  the structure of objects and spells, Hermione - to  _access_  it you just need something… more."

"But how does one access magic?"

Hermione stood from the chair and the room morphed again, from the Gryffindor Common room to a generic white room, but with columns running the length of it. Hermione eyed them in confusion and then turned to Harry.

"What do you think you need to  _alter_  things, Hermione?"

"I need…" she murmured, closing her eyes and picturing the room in her mind, the columns specifically. She could feel her magic floating and tingling around and in her; she could feel the faint buzz and the slightly metallic taste to the magic in the air from the Room of Requirements. How did she get her magic to interact with the ambient magic?

Apparition was about the three D's: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. Magic itself in spell casting was about Determination and Deliberation. Could she determine what she wanted and then deliberately focus on altering the structure?

Gamely, Hermione gathered her magic and reached out with her senses, her memory of the room, and her visual representation. She focused on a nearby column, learning its shape, its features, its construction makeup. Once she felt like she knew it intimately, she took a deep breath and pushed, nudging her magic up against it.

It hit the column like a wave crashing against a wall, breaking and barely affecting it.

Vaguely, she heard Harry chuckle.

Frowning, she tried again, and the same result happened: her magic crashed and then slid back, oil and water mixing and separating, never quite mingling together to help get her where she wanted to go without creating the rune- and Arithmancy-based transmutation circles.

"What am I missing?" she muttered, opening her eyes and squinting.

"Stop trying to browbeat it," suggested Harry. "Are you always able to do a spell by forcing it to happen? Magic, especially strong magic, is finicky. Sure, strong emotion may cast a Patronus, but the more delicate the end result, the more precise you need to be. It takes a deft hand. Try that."

 _Deft and delicate hand_ , thought Hermione, absently nodding.  _Yeah, I can do that_.

She pushed up the sleeves of her shirt, shook her limbs out, and closed her eyes once more. This time, instead of pushing her magic against the columns, she let her magic sidle up to it, tentative and friendly. The ambient magic of the Room curiously nudged back, and Hermione bit back a grin.

Her magic began to settle on top of the Room's, as a comforting blanket under it enveloped the ambient magic. Soon, the two were mingling and Hermione felt an immediate head rush as her senses grew and expanded. With a firm image of what she wanted to columns to look like, she gently sent it to her magic, which queried it to the ambient magic.

There was a tingle on her fingertips and the room crackled with electricity, and she opened her eyes.

Her breath caught.

Instead of a white room with white columns, there were four elaborate statues of the four founders holding up the room, in colour with textured marble to mimic the fabric of their robes. Their faces were expressive, works of Roman and Grecian art, in poses of power and memory: Ravenclaw with her wand out and scrolls and an eagle perched on her outstretched hand and a stern visage as she stared out at her female counterpart; Hufflepuff, with vines creeping up her legs and coiling around her arms like a lover's embrace from behind, her face alight with a kind smile and clever eyes.

Slytherin and Gryffindor faced each other, Gryffindor in a knight's pose with his large, long broadsword tip-down and in front of him. His hair was free and flowing and she blushed slightly realizing she took the stern, square face and jaw from a muggle romance novel cover. But his face was solemn and serious, and he wore it nobly.

Slytherin, on the other hand, was movement personified with his robes flowing long and out behind him, arms outstretched and in the midst of some powerful magic. His hair was bound back, long and silky, and his eyes fierce and expressive as he controlled the world around him through his magic.

They were breathtaking.

 _She had done that_.

Behind her, Harry clapped, and she whirled, still taken aback by the power she wielded. But the image of Harry flickered, from fourteen to forty, and back, and his voice was that of the room's when it said, "Oh, well done. Well done, indeed Hermione Granger/Evans."

A shiver shot down Hermione's spine.

"I think we can expect great things from you," it continued, in that strange, dual-layered voice that was leaden with power and something  _other_.

Hermione swallowed thickly and bowed her head in thanks. "I hope to live up to your expectations."

The Room's Harry gave her a fond if not exasperated smile. "Hermione Granger/Evans, if I did not think you were worth it, you would not be here."

And at that strange pronouncement, Hermione gave a tight smile and tried to desperately think that  _that_  didn't sound like prophecy, at all.

* * *

It began simply, with a single question, during breakfast in February.

Sirius, rumpled with sleep and bleary-eyed, wandered into the Great Hall and slumped into his usual seat at James's side, absently reaching for the coffee that Hogsmeade-trip morning.

Remus, opposite them with an empty space for where Peter sat, didn't even look up from his newspaper - he has his Daily Prophet ordered and read before most of the Gryffindors came down to the table - as Sirius's behaviour was typical.

As the table began to fill, Sirius, slowly waking up, took the time to survey the hall, looking for the next girl he'd ask out as his date for the evening. He skipped over the Slytherins -  _but there's Reg, buttering up some toast, looking rather smug. Hmm. Maybe that Calypso finally gave him the time of day._

He then jotted his eyes over to the Hufflepuff table, looking and easily finding the girls Reg's mate Crouch had inadvertently insulted at the New Year's party.

Both girls caught his eye and both blushed very red, fluttered their eyelashes at him, and giggled. He winced and quickly turned his back on the Hufflepuff table, which had him facing the rest of the Gryffindors, and, incidentally, the fifth year girls.

 _I can't ask Marlene again,_  he thought mulishly.  _I've already asked her twice this year and any more and people will start to think we're going steady. And Alice is dating Frank Longbottom - now_ that's  _a big guy I don't want to be in a fight against. And Phoebe Robinson is… well… how she ended up in Gryffindor I'll never know._

_And of course, then there's Lily. Who is untouchable, because James will loudly and verbally stake his claim, like clockwork._

Sirius frowned, and mentally went over what he just thought.

 _Stake his claim. Loudly and verbally. Clockwork_.

Sirius's frown deepened and he turned to look at his best friend. James was in the middle of a conversation with Remus, an animated one by the sound of it, and by the glean in his eyes.

"-thinking that maybe we could use Poincaré theory," said James.

Remus nodded slowly. "I don't take Arithmancy, but I've heard it used before…" He frowned.

"The theory is the basis of chaos theory," explained James, his voice rising in enthusiasm as his hands moved around, too. "It deals with bodies in motion and, when people are affected, how their behaviours change and alter accordingly."  
Sirius, who was doing quite well in Arithmancy, frowned. Because that was a perfect, if not paraphrased, answer.

"You need to use a dynamical system to explore the variables," the black-haired Potter explained, drawing an oval in the air with a finger. "Hermione explained it to me the other week - said it would be great if I knew all the variables in planning something with multiple reference points to ensure optimal results -"

 _Hermione?_  Sirius blinked.  _Hermione_  Evans?

He looked around the Great Hall again, spotting Lily laughing and talking with her dorm mates, flipping her red hair over her shoulder in response to something one said.

He then pulled out his pocket watch - a birthday gift from his father that he actually treasured, not that he'd tell anyone that - and realized that breakfast was almost over. Sirius looked back at James, who hadn't even mentioned  _Lily_  yet, for the forty minutes they'd been sitting at the table together.

Concerned, Sirius leaned over and placed a hand on James's forehead.

Sputtering, James broke off his explanation of dynamic systems and leaned away from Sirius. "Padfoot! What the hell!"

Sirius leaned closer, peering into James's hazel eyes. "You're ill, aren't you?"

"What? No!"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Yes, you are."

"I am  _not_ ," retorted James, shoving Sirius's hand out of his face. He turned to Remus. "Tell him, Moony! I'm perfectly fine."

"I have to agree with James, Sirius." Remus picked up the mug of tea in front of him and frowned at both of them from over the top of its lip. "Why do you think he's ill?"

Sirius stared blankly at his two friends, looking at them back and forth. Remus's expression was rather placid - like he was humouring Sirius - while James' chin had a stubborn tilt to it. "You - You don't realize?"

"Realize  _what_?" asked a rather irate James.

"You haven't spoken to Lily since she came down to breakfast," said Sirius, completely flabbergasted at the idea.

Then - James looked surprised like he hadn't even realized. Remus, on the other hand, shifted his eyes from Sirius to James, and then narrowed them thoughtfully as they all, in one smooth movement, turned to look down the Gryffindor table toward Lily Evans.

Obviously, she felt their eyes on her - from her magic prickling a warning, perhaps - because she stiffened and then slowly turned in her seat, green eyes flashing angrily as she met theirs. She glowered, and the thought of  _what are they up to?_ passed over her face, easily read.

Remus smiled; Sirius waved, and James reached up to ruffle his already wild hair.

Lily's scowl deepened.

"Say - Lily -" began James, pitching his voice so that she could hear him over the din of the Great Hall and the other students between their seats at the Gryffindor table.

"No." The girl in question snapped out and then turned around, ignoring the Marauders completely.

Sirius waited patiently for the follow-up, his eyes still on Lily. He waited for several, long seconds, before realizing that James had gone back to his conversation with Remus.

"Wait -  _what_?"

"What what?" asked James, his voice still dripping with some annoyance at the second interruption in his conversation with their werewolf friend.

Sirius blinked. "Aren't you going to continue to ask Evans out? Like… jump on the table? Shout something at her? Enchant the toast to serenade her?"

From behind his glasses, James stared at Sirius. "She said no. Why would I ask her again?"

Remus dropped his mug, sending it crashing onto his plate. What remained of his tea sloshed everywhere, including over his leftover scrambled eggs and sausages. Luckily, the noise was swallowed by the ambient noise from the rest of the students, so no one noticed, but between the three friends, it was as loud as a cannon blast.

Wide eyed, Remus said, "Because her saying no never stopped you before."

James shrugged.

The two were still staring at him when Peter breathlessly slid into his spot next to Remus. The thin teen glanced between the three and asked, "What did I miss?"

And without a lick of humour, Sirius replied, "The world ending."

* * *

It continued on Valentine's Day, or rather the lead up on the night before, when the boys were in their dorm room. James was on his bed, absently tossing a snitch in the air and catching it as he lay back and stared up at the red canopy of his poster bed, ankles crossed. Remus was opposite him, sitting cross-legged on his bed, and chewing on the end of a sugar quill as he edited a nervous Peter's essay.

Sirius entered the room with fanfare: the door swung on well-oiled hinges and banged against the stone wall behind, slamming hard into it and bouncing back toward the Black heir. He quickly sidestepped the door and let it slam shut behind him.

"Gentlemen! Marauders! Friends!" enthused Sirius as he strode forward, arms spread wide. "Who is the sexiest fifth year there is?"

"Are we supposed to answer that or is it rhetorical?" asked Remus, not looking up from the essay. Peter, sitting on his bed, brought a hand up and nervously chewed on a hangnail.

"Rhetorical, Moony," replied Sirius, launching himself onto his bed and bouncing a bit on it. "Because the answer is  _me_ , of course."

"Of course," echoed Remus sarcastically.

Sirius tossed his curls and, propping himself up on an elbow as he lounge, one leg bent up, he turned toward James. "Oi, mate - what's with you? Evans turn you down as your Valentine date?"

"Evans?" James glanced over. "Oh - you mean Lily. No."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean  _no_? You did ask her right? Because Jimmy - if you didn't - I'd begin to think something's wrong."

James sighed. "Of  _course_  I asked her out, Padfoot." He sat up, caught the snitch, and summoned its lockbox. He placed it in it, firmly shutting the fluttering gold ball in it, and then turned to his best friend. "And of course she said no. As usual."

"So why the long face?" asked Sirius.

James ran a hand through his hair, and Sirius glanced at Remus, who shrugged at the nervous gesture. He didn't know what was wrong, either.

"It's just - well - it'll sound silly," hedged James.

"I doubt that," piped up Peter, giving an encouraging smile to their leader and friend. "I often think I'll do something silly but you always tell me that's not true, and then I do it or say it, and things turn out fine, Prongs."

James sent a weak smile in return. "Thanks, Pete."

" _So_ …?" drawled Sirius.

"I was just thinking," began James, shifting uncomfortably on his bed as three sets of eyes focused intently on him. "As a thank you, maybe I could get something for Hermione? She's been very kind and thoughtful since the school year began, helping me with Arithmancy. I'd never have caught up to the fifth year material if it weren't for her."

Remus's eyes narrowed.

"You want to get her a gift?" asked Peter in confirmation, scrunching his face up. "Like… a thank you gift?"

James nodded. "I haven't yet - and I'm doing really well, she even said so herself. So I thought it would be a nice gesture."

"Yeah, but…" Sirius trailed off. "It's Valentine's, mate. Don't you think she'd get the wrong idea?"

"The wrong idea?" echoed James, looking completely befuddled with his wide eyes.

"Yeah…" Sirius looked around the room, for Remus and Peter to back him up. "You know? Valentine's Day? Gifts? Girls?"

Understanding dawned on James's face, and then it just a quickly shuttered behind something and his face went blank. "Don't be daft. Hermione's a  _friend_ , Padfoot."

And that was the end of that conversation.

(Yet, when Valentine's Day approached, Sirius kept his eyes open and peeled but James never once went over to Hermione Evans during meal times; he stuck to his friend like a sticking charm during the day, and he never left his side. But a day later, on February 15th, he watched as Hermione looked up from her breakfast and whatever Crouch was saying to her, catch James's eyes, and nod once, a tiny smile spreading across her face.

And James, at his side, grinned back.)

* * *

By the time March rolled around, Sirius was convinced something was up with James Potter. Remus, he knew (although they had yet to speak out loud about the matter), was also concerned - or quietly observant as he carefully watched James in classes that Sirius did not attend, and, strangely enough, during meal time. Peter was merely happy to go along with Sirius's thoughts but had little opinion on the matter.

What Sirius knew, however, was that it revolved around the Evans sister, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it and get his best friend back! James was  _not_  acting like himself: he was studious; he was answering questions in class  _voluntarily_  and had even cut down on his prank time with Sirius and the other Marauders citing he had to  _study._  STUDY. In the library! For his Arithmancy OWL! Which was still three months away!

Ridiculous.

Despite liking the little spitfire, Sirius had a strong suspicion that this was Hermione Evans fault. She was corrupting Prongs, changing him, making him think that school was important, that his grades mattered. She was filling his head with poison! Or something. He wasn't sure how yet, or even why, so he spent the next week or so subtly watching her (which wasn't very subtly at all).

He expertly trailed James to his study sessions with her and waited under the  _borrowed_  invisibility cloak to see what they did. He was expecting… love potions. Confundus charms. Or, given the girls' talent in spell crafting, something he had never heard or seen of before.

Instead, they… did homework. Hermione Evans tutored James on the material from just a month ago in their OWL class, and Sirius was quietly impressed at how well she caught him up in time for their exams.

But, as Sirius squinted his eyes from behind a large text titled  _Miraculous Mishaps in Modern Magic_ , there was something…  _off_ about their interactions. Nothing improper or overt, actually; just, off…

Like how when James got all the answers to his homework (now nearly all up to date with class; he was only a few worksheets behind), the grin that Hermione sent James had his best mate puff up in pride and reach up to fluff his hair.

Or, like when James would ask a rather insightful question, Hermione would lean back in her seat, eyes turned upward to the ceiling in deep thought, before nodding and muttering something like, "I hadn't thought of that - well done!" and  _she'd_  send  _him_  an impressed look.

 _Hmm_ , thought Sirius, eyes darting back and forth.  _This requires more reconnaissance_.

* * *

Despite being curious, Remus refused to help. So Sirius enlisted Peter, whom most people overlooked anyway, making him the best sort of spy out there.

In April, at the end of one of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch matches (and of course, Gryffindor victory), Peter told Sirius that he caught James giving Hermione a hug outside the locker room, once the stands had cleared and the team was washing up before heading to the dorm room for their celebratory party.

In May, Sirius caught James leaning against the rough stone-hewed wall of a courtyard off the Clock Tower, bracing his forearm against it and well above Hermione's head as she pressed back against the same wall, looking up at him.

Sirius, used to all manner of expression on the opposite sex (ecstasy, annoyance, rage, unhappiness, manipulative pouting, indifference), wasn't quite sure where to place Hermione's expression.

James - he knew - was easy to read. His friend was looking down at the curly-haired girl, his lips pulled back into an easy, confident smile and his hazel eyes - from what Sirius could see - were bright. Even his pose, although dominating Hermione's tiny frame, was open and relaxed. It was a look that Sirius rarely saw in his friend, except around those he felt the most comfortable around; people he could be himself without the big, bold, brash Gryffindor personality he had adopted.

 _But Hermione?_ Sirius shook his head.

It almost looked like amused fondness.

Which would be weird, considering that the Evans sisters disliked James; particularly Lily. And from what Sirius knew, Hermione didn't mind tutoring James in Arithmancy, but she wouldn't go out of her way to speak to him outside of the library.

Except... she was.

* * *

And then, it was time for the fifth years to write their OWLs.

Hermione knew it was coming. She knew that nothing she could've done in this timeline would have prevented what was to be - Snape being an idiot and her sister being stubborn, and throwing away his friendship while he took the necessary steps that brought him closer and closer to the man she knew in her future.

Long after Severus Snape died, and the war was over, Harry had divulged to her and Ron that he had gone into the man's pensieve and seen the memory of his fifth year OWL exam and the aftermath, including a vague explanation of how his friendship ended with Lily Evans. But Harry had been shady on the details, still respecting that man's privacy a decade and a half after his death.

So, while Hermione was aware, on some level, of  _something_  that would happen, she was… unprepared for how bad it was actually was.

Unlike the fifth years, the fourth years still has classes to attend while the others wrote their exams in the Great Hall (with the exceptions of her writing her NEWTs in Arithmancy and Charms, which she did in Professor Janus and Professor Flitwick's offices, respectively).

She had just finished her Charms NEWT, completely and utterly confident in her abilities given that she had over three decades ahead of what the examiner expected of her. As such, she was walking down towards the Black Lake to meet Barty and Regulus once they finished with Potions (as Slughorn happily told her to skip his class for her exams. Two words:  _Slug Club_ ). She arrived at her spot well ahead of her friends,

She sat on a comfortable patch of grass near the Lake and sat down a soft mound banking the lake that hid her from the quad and courtyards outside the Entrance Hall, cross-legged with her skirt modestly tucked around her knees. It was her favourite place outside to conduct her experiments, near the Lake for water, but surrounded by earth and hidden from nosey classmates unless someone knew where to look for her - like Barty and Regulus, the former who practically tumbled down the mound.

"Hermione!" greeted Barty loudly, flinging himself onto the grass beside her.

"Hey," she said, turning partially to look at him as he sprawled against the mound in a reclining position, using his Hogwarts blazer as a pillow beneath his head. "How was Potions?"

"Tolerable," said Regulus with a sigh as he pulled out his wand, cast a cushioning charm on the ground, and then primly sat.

"Only tolerable?" teased Hermione, a glint in her eyes.

Barty rolled his. "You know that he asked Reg to join his Slug Club. Again."

"It's  _embarrassing_ ," replied Regulus with a slight whine to his voice. "You know he just wants the Black name. And he'll never ask Sirius after he blew up his potions for an entire year... deliberately."

Hermione chuckled and Barty sighed as he stretched his arms up, looking very much like a long, lounging cat.

Regulus, keeping his posture perfect, pulled the very same flower he once gave Calypso from his bag and began spinning it in absent-minded circles as his thoughts turned inward. Finally, he felt Hermione's eyes on him and asked, "Have you done more? Of your transmutations?"

"I was going to practice," admitted Hermione. "Did you want to see? I think I have an idea of what to do."  
"Do?" asked Barty, his eyes peeking open.

"Beyond flowers and transmutation circles," explained Hermione, looking down at her hands. "I think I can do it without them now."

Regulus's eyebrows shot up. He leaned forward, no longer twirling the flower. "If you did that - that would be beyond anything - it would -"

"Practically change magic," breathed Barty, eyes wide.

Hermione looked away, bashfully as a blush stole across his cheeks. "We don't know that I can manage. It's been months since I had the last breakthrough -"

"You can," promised Regulus, his plump Pureblood tones softening. "Believe in yourself."

Hermione nodded and tilted her head back and she took in the warmth of the June sun on her face and shoulders. Deep breaths as she inhaled and exhaled escaped her, and she felt peace settle over her like a comfortable blanket.

After a few moments, she rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and ran her fingers through the grass, where white sparks crackled and popped and spread around in front of her, like a spider web as the ground rose and fell in gentle, rolling waves just like the lake before her.

Hermione grinned.  _Holy shit. I did it! Like in the Room of Requirement!_

"Merlin," she heard Regulus breath out, awe lacing his voice.

"I  _knew_  she could do it," she heard Barty mutter proudly.

She stared at the earth as it moved before her, stationary instead of spreading out across the grounds, but with a gentle motion that determined her control over the element. This was no reanimation or rebirth of a flower - she was actively engaging with and manipulating the ground.

With a rush of adrenaline through her, she spread the fingers on her hands and clenched them at once, bringing both fists up and watched as the earth followed her movements, rising like a podium. As soon as she let go of her fists and dropped her hands, the earth stand collapsed.

This was a kind of magic she had never seen before, even between Dumbledore and Voldemort in their duels, or Harry and Voldemort; this was the magic she hypothesized while working at the Ministry in her forties. This was magic of a different kind - wandless, elemental, but deeply rooted in understanding the scientific base of everything around her.

She was flushed and breathless with pleasure at her accomplishment and breakthrough.

And it was only then, as she came down from her high, that she heard the loud laughs and chatter from the other students as they exited their exams.

Hermione met Barty and Regulus's eyes, and, they turned as one, together twisting and crawling up the mound to see whether anyone was inadvertently going to find their hidden spot. Hermione poked her head from the earth and looked around at the gathering of students, many not wearing their Hogwarts robes in the warm weather.

A group of girls on the other side of the mound were cooling their feet in the water; one she recognized as her sister with her bright red hair shining in the June sunlight. Nearly a hundred meters down from the shoreline where she was hidden in the opposite direction, was a beech tree that she once sat under with Harry and Ron, but was currently occupied by the Marauders. Remus had a book out, engrossed in it; James was playing with a snitch, completely taken by tossing it up and catching it just as Peter was watching him; Sirius, however...

With Hermione, Regulus and Barty caught between the two groups, she turned her direction to see what the Black heir was staring at, like a dog that scented a rabbit - and spotted Severus Snape, fifth year Slytherin and one of the few students still in his Hogwarts robes, settled by a nearby clump of bushes, trying to remain cool in their meagre shade. He was directly opposite them, in a strange triangular shape.

Something heavy settled in Hermione's stomach.  _Oh. Oh, dear._

Regulus muttered a charm, and then, like a bubble settling over the three of them, they could hear what his brother and friends were saying.

"This'll liven you up, Prongs," Sirius muttered, causing James to sigh. He stopped playing with his snitch. "Look who it is…"

James obediently looked in the direction that Sirius suggested. "So? It's Snape. And he's leaving."

Sure enough, Hermione glanced back at the Slytherin and saw he was getting to his feet, shoving an OWL examination paper in his side bag.

Sirius gapped. "Mate? It's  _Snivellus_. C'mon!"

As Snape left the shadows of the bush, Sirius bounded forward a few steps. James shot to his feet, grabbing the snitch and shoving it in a pocket. Remus remained looking at his book but this time he was staring at it furiously, a furrow between his brows while Peter was looking eagerly between Sirius, James, and Snape as if wondering what would happen next.

"All right Snivellus?" shouted Sirius, drawing everyone's attention that was within hearing range.

At her side, Regulus slowly shut his eyes, painfully; Barty's were narrowed - Hermione knew he never had any strong positive feelings toward him anyway - and, on Hermione's other side, she saw her sister get to her feet, just as her girl friends stopped gossiping and talking. Many others were standing as well, water sluicing down their bare legs.

And yet, in the span of Hermione taking everything in, Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting the attack; he dropped his bag, plunged his hand in his robes, and his wand was halfway up and in a wide arc when Sirius shouted, " _Expelliarmus_!"

The Slytherin's wand flew in the air and landed some twelve feet, with a thud on the grass near Barty, who eyed it with distaste.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter and shouted another spell. Snape, who had dived forward for his wand, was knocked back and landed with a skid in the grass, getting long, green grass stains on his Hogwarts robes. His face was flushed red when he looked up and spotted the three of them directly ahead. Fury and shame broke across his face as he realized he was the focus of so much attention.

A crowd was beginning to form.

Sirius advanced, wand aloft. James trailed after him, muttering, "Sirius, Padfoot - stop this. What are you doing?"

"C'mon, mate!" grinned Sirius, although it looked strained. "You've been out of sorts since January. Putting Snivellus in his place will do you a load of good, yeah? It always makes me feel better."

James's eyes narrowed from behind his glasses and he stopped walking. "Is that why you're doing this? Because of  _me_?"

Sirius whirled around to stare at his friend. "You  _must_  admit that you haven't been acting normally, Jimmy. At all. C'mon - where's the showmanship that I know so well? The Gryffindor who is brave and daring? Who looks cool for Evans?"

At that, James nervously glanced over his shoulder toward the water where Lily was beginning to take little slow, worried steps forward. He glanced around, taking in the crowd, and then, when his eyes were wandering back to his friends, he saw Hermione, Barty, and Regulus watching, from where they stood on their steeply banked mound. He winced.

Peter was on his feet and Remus had abandoned the pretense of reading his book, merely staring down at the pages.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" continued Sirius, a nasty tone to his voice.

Hermione breathed deeply, trying to remember he was fifteen and stupid, and not the man at thirty-seven who died protecting Harry in the Department of Mysteries.

"I was watching him!" piped up Peter, joining the two black-haired teens as he sidled up next to James. He glanced up at them, not even looking at Snape. The mousy, curly-haired thin teen was sniggering. "His nose was touching the parchment. There'll be grease marks all over it. I doubt the professors will be able to read a word!"

Several people watching laughed. Hermione frowned.

"Berk," muttered Barty under his breath.

Snape, still facing their direction, struggled to get up even as his eyes were cut towards the Gryffindors. The jinx held him and, with a slight sigh, Barty twitched his fingers, his own magic counteracting Sirius's own spell.

Immediately, Snape's body relaxed; yet in opposition, his eyes widened in panic as he tried to figure out what happened, to figure out who had broken the jinx and what it meant for him. Was another attack coming?

"Oh, well done," murmured Hermione to Barty, who glanced at her and preened, a pleased smile stretching across his face. "Your wandless spells are coming along nicely - I hadn't realized you were able to cast a  _finite_  from this distance."

Regulus nodded at Hermione's other side in agreement.

Slowly, Snape got to his feet, inching a bit towards his wand.

"Just wait," he snarled with an expression of pure loathing through heavy, panted breaths, causing James, Sirius, and Peter to whirl and face him. Sirius was shocked to see him on his feet. "Just - you - wait!"

Sirius' shocked face morphed into disdain. "Wait for what? What are you going to do, Snivelly? Wipe your nose on us?"

Snape let out an expressive and expansive list of swear words and curses in his thick Yorkshire accent that impressed Hermione. "Blimey," she said.

At her side, Barty nodded emphatically. "Are you recording this, Reg? Please tell me you are. I need to remember some of those to us when I'm home for the summer."

In response, Regulus rolled his eyes expressively with a slight scowl.

"Snape," said James suddenly, "Watch your mouth - there are first years out here."

"What a good idea, Prongsie," grinned Sirius devilishly. Then he cast  _scourgify_ , hitting Snape directly in the face as pink bubbles streamed from his mouth at once. The froth was thick, covering his lips, making him choke, gagging.

Hermione winced.

" _Leave him alone_!"

" _Fuccccccckkkk_ ," she moaned, turning to see her sister striding forward from the Lake's edge.

Both Regulus and Barty turned to her as one, just as Sirius, Peter, and James turned to face the other Evans sister striding forward, his face flushed and the colour clashing with her vibrant hair.

"What's it to you, Evans?" asked Sirius, nonchalantly, but his eyes were off to the side, on James, who froze. Sirius has a calculating look on his face, something alien that Hermione had never seen before.

James's hand twitched at his side, unsure if it should go to his hair or not as Lily stopped a few metres from them. Instead, he clenched his fist and kept it at his side as Remus began to inch forward, his own eyes wide and focused on the Marauder's ringleader.

Lily was focused on Sirius. "Leave him alone," she repeated.

"This is  _not_ going to go well," muttered Regulus, cancelling the eavesdropping spell as there was no need - everyone within a hundred foot radius was watching rapturously and it was so silent that their conversation was easily heard. "Sirius doesn't like being told what to do."

"Yeah, I remember," said Hermione, pursing her lips, thinking back to the weeks when he stalked her. "I'm going to go out there."

Barty's head whipped around to stare at her. "What for? You could get caught in the middle of them! Or hit by a spell!"

"I think I'll be fine," she replied, stepping forward and sliding away from Barty's outstretched hand.

Lily had continued speaking, and Hermione managed to be within two feet of her as Peter answered, "-the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…"

Those around them laughed, except for Hermione, Lily (who looked murderous towards Peter and Sirius), Remus, who clenched his hands on his book, and, surprisingly, James, who was nervously looking around.

"I suppose you think that was funny," said Hermione, pitching her voice so that everyone heard.

There was some silence and awkward shifting, and someone even said, heard by all, "Who's the Ravenclaw?"

"Hermione," sputtered James, blinking. This time, his hand flew up and he ran it through his hair, messing it up, and then he did it again. "All right? How did your NEWT go?"

Hermione glanced toward him and then to her sister, who was staring at James in bewilderment. Then, after a moment, she shook her head, as if clearing her mind, and faced Sirius once more, speaking coolly. "You're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Black. You take your own insecurities and mummy and daddy issues out on anyone you can to make yourself feel better. Pathetic."

Hermione winced. "Lily - I don't think that was the best-"

James tried, too. "Padfoot - she doesn't know anything - honest -"

But Sirius's face turned splotchy red. "My own insecurities, Evans? Really? Then let's have a chat, shall we? Let's talk about the fact that no one in the school even knows about Hermione, hmm?"

"What?" Lily rocked back a bit, blinking.

He nodded in her direction, and Hermione froze. "You know, right Evans? Your  _little sister_. In Ravenclaw? You ashamed of her or something?"

There was some muttering around the crowd, and Hermione's eyes darted around as she caught a few snippets.

" _-a sister?"_

" _Ravenclaw? She must be smart-"_

" _Maybe Evans felt threatened?"_

" _What a bitch."_

" _Oh Merlin, there's two of the Mudbloods…"_

Hermione felt like the earth had opened up under her. It was one thing to throw herself out there and be comfortable with her position in this life - but that was because  _she_ was in control of who she spent time with and who got to know her. She was comfortable with Barty and Regulus; and, even to some degree, James and vaguely Sirius. But…  _this?_

She could feel the pinpricks of dozens of eyes suddenly on her, and the cloak of invisibility that she had wrapped around her as security and comfort be ripped off painfully. She shuddered.

"Don't make this about me," snapped back Lily, but there was a tremble in her voice and a sheen to her eyes as she panicked and looked around, her eyes avoiding Hermione completely. "This is about you. You attacking my friend."

Sirius scoffed.

"Tell you what, Evans," the Gryffindor drawled, spinning his wand lazily. "Since  _I_  am apparently a keen observer and we all know that my best friend - my brother in all but name - fancies you, let's make a deal. Go out with him, a real proper date like he's wanted for years, and not only will I never lay a wand on old Snivelly again, I won't mention what a shite sister you are."

It was Lily's turn to freeze as the air was sucked out of the area around them. There was a strange buzzing noise in the air, and Hermione swayed slightly as her heartbeat quickened and her palms began to sweat. There was a terse, crackling feeling in the air.

Yet, in all this time, no one was looking at Snape, who had used it to his advantage, crawling toward his wand, the frothing soap in his mouth beginning to dwindle and leaving him looking less rabid.

"I wouldn't go out with Potter if he were the last man on earth," declared Lily, finally. She tilted her chin up and tossed her shoulder-length hair back.

Sirius eyed her. "So you wouldn't take one for the team, eh, Evans? Not to help your so-called  _best friend_? To let your  _sister_ know you care about her? Some loyalty you have. I guess that's why you're not in Hufflepuff."

Lily bristled.

"Bad luck, Prongs," continued Sirius briskly. "Guess you've got your answered there and are a free agent once more." With that, he turned back to Snape, eyes growing wide. " _Oi_!"

But Snape had reached his wand and directed it towards the three teens standing together; there was a flash of light as it burst from his wand and, in his anger, it veered widely away from Sirius and Peter toward James.

With a heavy inhale through her nose, Hermione whipped her hand out and up; the ground before James's feet trembled and then a sheet of solid earth rose up, a thin rectangular that, when the light hit it, dashed it and sent bits crumbling to the ground as it collapsed. Yet, the spell dissipated upon hitting something - its target.

James, standing behind the sheet of compact dirt, stared. Slowly, he turned his head to face Hermione. She, in response, quickly slipped her wand into her hand to make it appear as if she had cast a spell, especially as others caught on that she blocked Snape's attack.

Sirius whirled, his own eyes wide and frantic as he looked his best friend over for a cut, blood, anything - but then he whirled around just as quickly, toward Snape. Then the Slytherin was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants; he wasn't wearing the pressed trousers or Muggle-styled uniform under.

Many people in the crowd roared with laughter, including Sirius and Peter. Hermione winced, involuntarily taking a step forward, which put her level to her sister, whose furious expression twitched - and Hermione stared hard at her profile.

 _Were you… were you about to_ smile? thought Hermione, eyes growing wide.  _This is your best friend! If Malfoy had_ ever _thought of doing something like this to Ron or Harry, I would have cheerfully snuck into the Slytherin dormitory and risked expulsion to avenge them. And here you are, sister, thinking someone else's suffering is okay? He hasn't even said - that word - yet, if the memory continues to play out_.

Disgust stole over her face, and Hermione strode forward, overtaking her sister who remained in place. Behind her, she could hear Barty and Regulus muttering and then one was scrambling after her. She knew it was Barty - Regulus had to maintain some Slytherin objective.

With a cut of her wand, the  _levicorpus_  spell - ironically Snape's own invention - broke and he crashed to the ground; behind her, she heard Barty mutter a cushioning charm. She glanced back and nodded in appreciation and he gave her a tight, grim smile.

Righting himself and his robes, Snape got to his feet, wand up; just as Sirius opened his mouth,

"ENOUGH!" roared Hermione, inserting herself between the two as Barty squawked and James jerked forward. She glanced between the two as Sirius froze and snapped his mouth shut. "This has gone on long _enough_!"

Sirius eyed her warily. "Princess... don't make me hex you. Get out of the way. This is between me and Snivelly."

"This is between  _both_ of your ridiculous egos and pathetic need for validation," snapped Hermione, facing Sirius. "But it is  _enough_  now. You're done, Sirius. Walk away. Be the bigger man."

There was a terse silence in the crowd; Lily began to wring her hands, glancing between Snape and Hermione and then Sirius. Sirius himself was staring at Hermione, frowning like he couldn't quite figure something out - and James, his mouth had dropped open for a brief moment, and then snapped shut so quickly and tightly Hermione could hear the sound where she stood between the two teens, as well as see the accompanying tense jaw he was working.

Finally - finally, Sirius lowered his wand.

Next to Lily, Barty let out a loud sigh of relief.

"All right, Evans," he said, slowly. "All right." He turned to Snape, shaking his head. "You're lucky that Hermione was here, Snivellus-"

"I don't need help from filthy know-it-all Mudbloods like her!"

Hermione blinked.  _Oh, wow. It… still happened. Just… not with Lily. Hmm._

"APOLOGIZE TO HERMIONE!" roared James, and then he was brushing past Sirius, striding forward with his wand ablaze, its tip pulsing angrily with a spell he hadn't yet unleashed until he was nearly at her side. His face was incredibly flushed in his anger, his hair far more windswept than normal as his magic crackled around him.

Hermione turned and pressed up against his chest with both her hands, pushing him back so that he stumbled a step, but his eyes were locked on the Slytherin.

"Are you  _kidding_ me? Potter - James -" Hermione shook her head. "I don't need a knight in armour, here. Drop it."

Jaw tensing, James glanced down at her, his hazel eyes furious. "He called you a  _you-know-what_! How dare he!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "Does it  _look_  like I'm upset?"

James paused, reaching for her with his non-wand hand and gripping her arm, just by her elbow. His fingers slipped under her shirt's rolled-up sleeve and she fought against a shiver. "What?"

His eyes darted back and forth between hers, taking in her relaxed stance, the way she wasn't reacting to the slur. But, behind them, Lily gave a tiny mocking laugh. "Well. I certainly won't be sticking around if that's how you truly think of us Muggleborn. And I'd wash your pants, if I were you,  _Snivellus_."

Hermione and James spun as one to stare at Lily, his hand clenching around her arm in response. Her eyes were narrowed firmly in her (ex?)friends' direction, but then they turned to James.

"And  _you_  -" she began. "I don't want  _you_  to make him apologize. You're as bad as he is!"

James sputtered. "I beg your pardon-" just as Hermione snapped, "Lily!"

But she rolled her eyes. "Please. Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick-"

Hermione frowned as she thought back to his nervous hand running through his hair. Apparently, it wasn't  _all_ nerves, then.

"-Showing off with that stupid snitch, walking down the corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can-"

Her frown deepened.  _Was he? He_ was?

"-I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me  _sick_!" Lily shouted the last part, breathing heavily. Then she turned on her heel and strode off, towards the Entrance Hall. Those in her way, part of the surrounding crowd, scrambling over themselves to part for her.

A few of her girl friends from Gryffindor, the other girls watching by the lake, took off after her. "Lily! Lily, wait!"

"What's with her?" muttered Sirius, but still loud enough for those hanging around to hear.

"When did this become about  _me_?" muttered James, his voice annoyed. His hand reflexively twitched and Hermione glanced down at it. He followed her eyes and removed his hand, jerking back like it burned. He took several steps away from her. "Sorry."

"Sounds to me like she thinks you're conceited, Prongs," said Peter, his mouth turned down. "And that Padfoot has deep-rooted psychological issues toward his parents."

"Right," breathed Sirius, heavily through his nose as his nostrils flared.

"Sirius -" warned Hermione, eyes flashing, "Don't-"

"Don't tell me what to do, Evans," he snapped back, looking furious.

His wand inched up, aimed toward her, and then Barty was there, his own pointed at Sirius, and Regulus was on Hermione's other side, but his wand was pointed down. There was an edge to his eyes though, and a nasty threatening cadence to his voice when he said, "Hello, brother."

Sirius swallowed thickly, staring at his brother for several long moments, and then he turned - too quickly for Hermione to follow and there was another flash. Snape was once again upside down and Sirius was taunting, "Who wants to see me take Snivelly's pants off?"

" _Oh my God_ ," moaned Hermione. She cut her hand through the air like Barty had, and again, Snape fell to the ground. This time, there were tears gathering in his eyes and he was flushed very red against his pale face.

Sirius turned to face Hermione. "You've had enough chances, Evans. You want a fight? Fine."

"Sirius!" snapped James. "That's enough! Stop it! You're not angry with her. You're not even angry with Snape! Let it be!"

"If you want a fight, Black," jeered Hermione, narrowing her eyes, "I'm happy to oblige." She then gave him a tiny little smirk, knowingly pushing his buttons.

Barty moaned.

Breathing heavily, Sirius stared at her. Then he was stalking forward, James on his heels, until he stopped nose-to-nose with her. Sirius was, and always had been, a tall man and as a teenager, he towered over her. But Hermione let her head tip back and she even smiled placidly up at him.

Grey eyes catching hers, he leaned forward a bit more and breathed, "Midnight. Shrieking Shack. And you'd better come alone, Evans. I'll  _know_."

Behind her, James stood, horrified.

But Sirius had strode off, also toward the Entrance Hall, with Peter following him. Remus, looking peaky and ill, kept looking between him and James, Hermione, Regulus, and Barty where they stood. None of the crowd had heard, except them.

"You won't let him do this, will you?" the werewolf muttered anxiously at James. "James? Will you?"

"I-"

But he shook his head, torn, and then was walking away, past Snape without a word as the other teen glared at him. But Snape did not raise his wand. Sensing the fight was over without further retaliation from anyone involved, the crowd began to disperse.

"Please tell me you're not going to go," begged Barty, leaning down a bit to look at Hermione with wide brown eyes.

Hermione rolled them. "He's spoiling for a fight. And in the meantime between now and then, he'll just rack himself up. It's best I do."

"But -"

"Barty," said Hermione, "I can handle him. You know I can. You  _both_  do," she turned to catch Regulus's frown. "And I won't hurt him."

"But why'd he suggest the Shrieking Shack?" asked Regulus slowly. "And you won't go alone, will you?"

"I will," she nodded, and they slowly began to walk back to their banked mound to collect their bags. "And as for the location…"

She trailed off and then looked up at the sunny sky, where the full moon would later hang. "I have a good idea as to why."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this took to get out; between moving into our first home (four times delayed!), the start of the new school year with more hours (good – but also bad, more to prep and mark), and the travel time I now have (1.5 hours in each direction), I've had a hard time finding the time and motivation to write. However, this chapter is done! Yay! "Cursed Be this Soul" will be next, followed by "Winter Witch" as I'm suffering from writer's block despite having an outline for that one.
> 
> You'll note that there is a lot from the OotP chapter, "The Pensieve" here; remember that it comes from Harry's biased perspective, as there are some word for word lifts in this chapter. I am not trying to paint Lily in a bad light at all. We need to remember that these are 14 and 15-year-olds, and IMO, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are hotbeds for peer pressure and bullying.


	9. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opinions of the witches and wizards in this chapter do not reflect the views of the author and therefore should be treated as biased and emotional. :)

*

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

IX

*

“Sometimes the things presented to us as choices aren’t choices at all.”

\-- _11/22/63_ , Stephen King

*

The boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor was filled with a tense sort of quiet. None of them had attended dinner -- Remus was feeling too sickly to eat, with the oncoming moon; James and Sirius were too furious for hunger, and Peter had followed along.

Now, the four were in their room, hastily thrown up silencing spells layered through practice from four wands to blot the sound of the Common Room (and their room) out. Remus, pale grey in the face and sweaty, sank to the floor at the foot of his bed and cradled his head in his folded arms as his knees came up -- James sent him a worried look, swallowing thickly at the obvious display of nerves. His eyes then darted to Sirius, who, despite the toss of his head and the upturned, stubborn chin, kept glancing worriedly at Remus. Peter stood near Sirius, warily looking between him and James, and was slowly edging to his bed.

James, however, stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. Finally, he inhaled deeply in the tense silence of the room. He tried to handle his anger -- his fear, his worry -- by counting his breaths.

In. _One, two, three._

Out. _One, two three._

In. _One, two --_

 _WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”_ the worlds exploded out of James’s mouth in a breathless rush, aimed directly at Sirius who flinched, his shoulders hunching just a bit like a shocked, misbehaving dog. “Oh -- I’ll _tell_ you -- you _weren’t!_ How could you, Sirius?! How could you do this to Remus?”

Bitterly, Sirius mumbled, “Don’t you mean Hermione?”

James pinched the bridge of his nose, riding his glasses up a bit as he did so. “Sirius. You are putting our _best friend_ at jeopardy because -- for some strange reason -- you have a grudge against a _fourteen-year-old_.”

“She’s not fourteen,” he replied petulantly, “She had a birthday in September.”

 James stared at him, and even Remus wearily raised his head from the comforting protection of his arms to share in James’s befuddled and exasperated look.

“I beg your pardon?” sputtered James, blinking.

Sirius’s cheeks turned red. He then exhaled and cut a hand through the air. “Look -- it doesn’t matter okay? I did what was right. And she’s not going to show anyway, so who cares? It wasn’t meant for her anyway.”

 _Not meant for her…?_ James’s eyes shut slowly and painfully as he squeezed them against the realization that there were a few others within hearing distance when Sirius had said that. _And as far as I know, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt his brother, and I doubt that he knows Crouch’s name..._

“Sirius. Please. _Please_ tell me this still isn’t about Snape.”

The teen in question scoffed. “When _isn’t_ it about Snivellus?”

Remus groaned from his position on the floor. Peter’s eyes were wide as they darted back and forth between the two black-haired teens.

James did his best to not launch himself across the floor and tackle Sirius in order to pummel him. His anger made his hands shake and he breathed deeply as he tried to maintain his composure. “ _Sirius_. There is no reason to keep antagonizing Snape--”

“Of course there is,” broke in the Black teen, “I have about a dozen springing to mind right now--”

Peter snickered.

“--when he hasn’t done anything -- er, for the most part -- to provoke it,” continued speaking James over Sirius, raising his voice. “It’s different if he sends a spell to you first, Sirius, but to continue to bother him--”

“--I can do what I want, James--”

“--I’m not saying that you _can’t_ , Sirius--”

“--Oh? Because my ears are hearing something very different--”

“-- _No one is telling you what to do_ \-- I’m telling you to be careful--”

“--I’m careful--”

Remus snorted.

“--Not careful enough, Sirius! Not when you’re telling Hermione or Snape to go to the Shrieking Shack on a full moon!”

“Oh, come off it, Jimmy,” sighed Sirius with an expressive eye roll, flopping down on his bed in one move, “I said it before; Evans won’t go. And while Snape’s curiosity will take him to the Shack, we’ll make sure he doesn’t get too close--”

“Really?” James’s stare was hard on Sirius. “Are you _sure_? Because it really sounds to me like you’re setting Snape up to be murdered by _our friend_.”

“Well, I wouldn’t complain if he was permanently out of the way,” replied Sirius airily, Peter nodding along.

“Sirius!” both James and Remus were aghast and their cries reflected that.

The teen shrugged and reached for a discarded magazine on his night table, beginning to flip through it. James was not fooled by the nonchalant act, as Sirius’s shoulders were still very tense and his body was held rigidly on the bed.

“Sirius, please tell me you don’t want Remus to be used as a--” he struggled for a word, before blurting, “A-- a _murder weapon_ to get rid of Snape because you’re jealous of him!”

“Jealous?” scoffed Sirius, but there was a brittle quality to his voice. “Me? Ha! Jealous. Please.”

The silence in the room suggested that Remus, James, and Peter thought otherwise.

When no one spoke, Sirius tossed his magazine down on the bed and stared hard at his friends. "Why would _I_ be jealous of Snivelly?”

Despite the waxy sheen to Remus’s face, his voice was all snark when he replied, “Oh, I don’t know, Padfoot -- maybe because he’s in Slytherin and has parental approval? Or that he’s a Halfblood and still seems to have some sort of friend circle? I mean, it’s not like _you_ sling nasty Dark magic at him when he does the same back to you, or anything like that--”

“I’m not a Dark wizard!” shouted Sirius, rising to his feet and face red as he stared down his werewolf.

Remus’s stare was bland, just as his reply. “Of course you’re not.”

Through his teeth, Sirius gritted, “Is that sarcasm, Moony?”

James sighed, his voice cracking with the strain as he spoke. “Sirius -- _please_.”

Sirius turned to his best friend, his brother in all but blood (although, they were cousins, so blood related as well), and met his hazel eyes. Although his blood was still boiling from the insults his friends hurtled at him -- the fact that two had even _done so_ had Sirius stop and think, shortly, that maybe -- maybe -- he was in the wrong -- and he took a deep breath in reply.

“James,” pled Sirius, grey eyes wide and earnest. “You _know_ me. I’m not a Dark wizard -- I’m not like my family! You know that! I don’t like Snivel--er… _Snape_ \--”

Remus snorted.

Sirius shot a glare at him. “--Okay, so I _hate_ the bugger, fine, happy now, Moony? But I’m not a murderer. I’m not!”

James glanced at Remus who shrugged. Peter remained silent, happy to be out of the way while his friends worked things out between them, as his opinions tended to be more aligned with Sirius’s but given how Remus and James were going after him, Peter wisely kept silent.

Turning back to Sirius, James said, pointedly, “Then prove me wrong and go find Snape. Stop him from going to the Shack tonight.”

Sirius’s pleading face drained and he nearly rolled his lower lip in to chew nervously on it. “But what if he tells people about Moony?”

James blinked. “Is _that_ what this is about? You were planning on getting Snape seriously hurt because you’re afraid he’ll tell someone that there is a werewolf at Hogwarts?”

“Moony could be expelled, or hurt,” argued Sirius, his voice small.

Remus growled, “Moony could _still_ be hurt or expelled tonight because of your stupidity, Sirius! Merlin!” the sandy-haired teen shot to his feet and, with a renewed vigor, snapped, “I’m going to see Madam Pomfrey and then heading to the Shack. For God’s Sake, Sirius!” he turned to his friend, sliding into blasphemy from his mother’s Muggle upbringing, “ _FIX THIS_.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm. With a glance between the two, Peter scurried after him, calling, “Remus! Wait for me!”

James waited a few moments, letting the silence linger a bit longer in the room as some of the tension bleed with the removal of Remus and Peter. Finally feeling like he might find the underlying cause of things, because there was more than what Sirius was saying, James asked, quietly, “It’s more than just Snape, isn’t it? You’ve been out of sorts since January.”

Sirius turned his face and eyes from his friend and moved to his bed, smoothing the duvet and fussing over it.

“Don’t avoid, Sirius.”

The dog animagus sighed. “You don’t want to hear what I’m going to say.”

“You’re my brother; of _course_ I want to hear what you say.” James took a few steps forward and placed a hand on his friends’ shoulder. “Even if I dislike it.”

Sirius tensed under the hand, but then sighed heavily, and his shoulders fell. “You’ve changed.”

“Changed?” shock laced through James’s voice. “How?”

Sirius’s look was dry, an unsaid _really?_ sent to James, indicating how dumb he thought that question was. When James failed to respond, Sirius sighed heavily. “Jimmy -- James -- how can you _not_ see? When was the last time you went after Evans?”

 _“Went after Hermione?”_ yipped James in shock, eyes and mouth wide as he nearly tripped on nothing, a stumble backward into the bed’s poster.

“No, not Hermione,” ground out Sirius, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Although that completely proves my point. Not so long ago you would have mentioned _Lily_ when I said ‘Evans.’ Now, your first thought is to her younger sister.”

“I--” James snapped his mouth shut. There was a vaguely panicked look forming on his face as his eyes darted around the room and sweat began to bead at his hairline. His cheeks flushed a light pink.

“James,” said Sirius, quite seriously, “Do you fancy Hermione?”

“Sirius! Merlin!” yanking at his collar, James’s eyes slid away and toward his messy bed. His heart began to race. “What hogwash.”

“ _Mmhmm_.”

 _Me? Fancy Hermione?_ Mentally, James scoffed, ignoring the furious racing of his pulse and the sudden sweat that raced down his spine. _She’s a good friend and she’s helped me do well on my Arithmancy work, that’s all. Of course, there was that kiss at New Years -- and she’s a good laugh -- no. No, I don’t fancy her. She’s bloody scary -- I_ admire _her._

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, Padfoot,” replied James finally, his voice low and tone stern enough that the conversation was closed.

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, but he kept his mouth shut. James could read his thoughts clearly on his best friends’ skeptical face, though; it read _you’re not fooling anyone_.

Frustration bubbled up. With a glance away from his friend (he wasn’t avoiding, at all!), James watched the sun’s descent.

James said crossly, “Anyway -- it’s getting close to dinner and soon Moony will be heading to the Shack with Wormtail. Don’t you think you have someone you need to find to stop them from being mauled or killed?”

The vague mirth in Sirius’s face quickly faded to annoyance.

“Merlin, James, suck the fun out of it, why don’t you?” he muttered, but listened to the silent suggestion, moving away from his bed and past his friend as he headed for the door. He grabbed a discarded jacket of Remus’s, neatly hanging on a hook and swung it up and around as he smoothly stuck his arms through the sleeves. He was still muttering under his breath as he left the dormitory, leaving James alone.

For several long seconds, James held perfectly still, eyes forward as his ears strained for noise but the silencing spells they wove held. There was nothing but his harsh breathing, which increased its pace until he was almost panting nervously. Snapping his mouth shut upon realizing his quick breaths, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

_I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily._

It became a mantra in his mind, looping and littering his brain as he repeated the sentences repeatedly as he calmed his racing heart: _I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily._

Soon, his sweaty palms were dry, and his breaths were even and regulated. The sun was barely peeking over the mountain range beyond the Forbidden Forest, and soon the moon would be up. Remus, Sirius, and Peter would be waiting for him at the Shack, and the thought of leaving Moony alone without Prongs was an ache in his heart.

Turning, James made his way out of the dorm, taking the stone steps carefully and evenly as the mantra continued. _I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily._

However, at the foot of the stairs, he realized that those in the busy common room were rooted in spot; some blushing furiously and keeping their eyes forward or on books or their game of Gobstones while others were facing the girls’ dorm unashamedly listening to the shouts that were echoing down. While he couldn’t make them just out, James knew in his gut that it would be something he didn’t like.

James took a step, then another, forward. _I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily._  

_“And you know what **really** gets me? What **really** bothers me, Hermione? You go to Ravenclaw and then **you fucking excel in everything you do!** Like it’s easy or something without any hard work put into studying or practicing magic!”_

His mouth turned down, involuntarily, against the thickness in Lily’s voice. _I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily._

“What’s going on?” he asked to the nearest person he could find, a third year who glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“Some Ravenclaw came to the Common Room, asking for Evans, and now Evans is shouting at her,” said the third year girl in a timid voice.

“Some Ravenclaw?” murmured James, turning back to the girls’ steps. _Hermione?_

Then, Lily’s voice tore viciously through the suddenly silent Common Room as even those pretending to ignore the argument found themselves frozen at the vitriol of the Muggleborn Gryffindor as her voice echoed down the stone passageways. There was something vibrating in the air -- a tense, anticipatory air among the Gryffindors blatantly eavesdropping -- and they were rewarded as Lily’s cruel tone reached a crescendo that cut through the thick sense of eagerness in the Common Room.

_“ **I DON’T CARE!** I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON’T CARE THAT YOU WRITE TO TUNEY AND SHE ACTUALLY REPLIES AND CARES FOR YOU OR WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON’T CARE ANYMORE ABOUT YOU. I DON’T! I DON’T!”_

James felt his mouth tighten and his hands clench into fists at his side. It was an instinctive response because he knew who Lily was speaking to -- and his heart thundered in his chest and it was like he was outside again, listening to Snape call Hermione a mudblood but this time she wasn’t there to stop him and then he was striding forward, toward the entrance, his hands shaking, his pulse racing --

_“Just go back to Ravenclaw and hang out with your loser friend Crouch. Because you’re weird and sociopathic and I can’t even stand to look at you.”_

_How could she? Even when she was at her angriest with me, she’s never said anything that horrible,_ thought James. _And to her own_ sister!

Belatedly, he realized that there were several silent students behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw many were staring at him, at the passage, at the stairs; some of the Gryffindors had a gleam in their eyes, and no matter what James did during the day in the corridors of Hogwarts, and he could never be as cruel to subject Hermione to the taunts that were sure to come.

A wave of protectiveness rose in him and he barked, “Mind your own business!” in a sharp voice.

Immediately, students began to talk loudly and kept their heads pointedly in the opposite direction of the stairs; approving, James nodded once and turned back, just as he heard the soft steps of someone walking down the stone.

The girl who emerged was not the confident and coolly collected Ravenclaw that James knew; Hermione’s shoulders were hunched over and there was a glazed look to her light honey-coloured eyes.

“... Hermione,” he heard himself say, his voice trembling as he tried to control his emotions.

She sighed, glancing up and then away. “I guess you heard all that, huh, Potter?”

His jaw tensed again and shifted to the side as he grit down on the back of his teeth. His shoulders were tense and he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his side, trying to get feeling in them again.

“I--” he shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. All thoughts of going outside and to the Shack were gone from his mind -- instead, all he could focus on was Hermione’s bright brown eyes, the slight sheen in them, and the tremble in her lips when she spoke. When he opened them, they were fixed firmly on her. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Sure, why not? How about we go up to your dorm room,” suggested Hermione, her shoulders falling further. “If Black is up there, I can have someone else yell at me, too. I can have a matching pair from Gryffindor. Maybe then, I can visit Hufflepuff. I’m sure I’ve done something to offend them, too.”

A stricken look passed over James’s face. _Oh, Hermione..._

“Hermione,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but quickly withdrew his hand. “Walk with me?”

She glanced up again, her lips pursed. She looked around his face, like searching for an answer. Whatever she saw in his face -- which he tried to make earnest as possible -- satisfied her. She sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”

Silently, they exited the Common Room through the Fat Lady’s portrait; James’s hand ached and he wasn’t sure if it was from his tight clench or whether his hands itched to reach out and touch Hermione.

*

After her rather public “outing” when she stepped in between Sirius and Snape, Hermione elected to eat her dinner in the kitchens, with Barty at her side. Regulus bowed out.

(“Why?” Barty asked.

“Because I want to get a read on the Slytherin Common Room right now,” explained Regulus, his face strangely solemn. “Snape and Evans were known as best friends from day one at Hogwarts, despite being in different houses and different statuses.” He sent an apologetic look toward Hermione, who shrugged. “Him calling _you_ a Mudblood like that, and then being linked to his best friend as her sister, will change how those in Slytherin view outside friendships.”

“And my obvious connection to Lily now might make things difficult for you,” sighed Hermione.

Regulus shrugged in reply, a rather un-Pureblood move. “Maybe. Everyone knew I was friends with you before--”

“Ah, yes, the pet Mudblood,” said Hermione with a fond if not dry twist to her lips.

“--but Snape is merely a Muggle-raised Halfblood whereas I am a Black,” finished Regulus, sending a glare at Hermione for interrupting. “I have more standing in Slytherin than he does. If everything Sirius has done over the years hasn’t caused me problems, I doubt this will.”

Barty sent Hermione a worried look as she narrowed her eyes at Regulus and said, cryptically, “We’ll see.”)

In the kitchens, surrounded by the warmth of several fires in stoves and ovens, as well as the ever-accommodating House Elves, Barty watched as Hermione stirred her spoon through her cold summer soup.

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly, brows furrowed.

 Hermione shrugged, eyes remaining down on the bowl.

“I know you said that you were going to give Black a fight, but surely you didn’t mean that?” continued Barty, his voice starting to strain. “I know you’re more than capable, Hermione -- especially now -- so that’s not why I’m worried.”

Hermione looked up now. “Worried? Whatever for?”

Barty stared at her. “Not even five months ago, that Gryffindor was proclaiming his love for you. You were starting to be friendly with him. Now you want to fight him?”

“Oh, he doesn’t actually want to fight me,” replied Hermione easily. “He just wants to release his anger and this is one of the few ways he knows how.”

“What are the others?”

The look Hermione sent Barty was obvious and dry, and the brown-haired teen blushed so hotly that his ear tips went scarlet.

“And,” the female Ravenclaw said pointedly, “I’m not offering myself up for that.” She shuddered. “Having him chase me around Hogwarts reciting Shakespeare was enough. I don’t _ever_ want to be caught in his amorous gaze.”

Barty narrowed his eyes. “So -- then why do this?”

Hermione looked down again, and frowned. “I think --” she began quietly, “I think I need to do this for myself, too. Like…”

 _I need to learn to divorce myself from the Sirius of my past - or, the future - and the Sirius of the now. With my presence, he’s bound to change. Things won’t remain the same. He’s already a different person than the man I knew,_ she finished in her head, grimacing and looking away. _But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with this shite._

Barty stared at her for a bit longer, mechanically chewing at his own meal. Finally, he swallowed and muttered, “If this is what you’re planning on doing, well, then -- fine.” He sighed. “But don’t think you’re doing it alone.”

The smile Hermione sent him made his chest tighten and warmth spread through his body. “I know you’ve got my back.”

“Any day,” replied Barty.

The two grinned at one another, and finished the rest of their meals in silence. Once done, after profusely thanking the House Elves, Hermione and Barty meandered the halls until they were on the same floor as the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione unconsciously did it, but, the closer they walked to her old, familiar stomping grounds from another time, Hermione realized that she needed to speak with her sister. What she had witnessed boiled within, and it was in direct contradiction to much of what she knew the Lily Potter of her past (future?) to be like.

Their walk slowed to an amble, and then to the dragging of her feet until they both stopped before the fat woman in a pink dress. Barty glanced at Hermione quizzically. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I don’t want to do this. I _need_ to do this.”

With a sigh, Barty placed himself opposite the portrait, leaning against the wall and idly pulling a book from his school bag, neither of them having gone to their Common Room after the fight. “I’ll be here, then.”

Hermione nodded and turned back to the Fat Lady. She was sure she could use her magic to nudge the portrait open, but a laughing pair of Gryffindor fourth years tumbled out, their breathless gasps silenced quickly when they spotted the blue and bronze of her uniform.

“I’m looking for Lily Evans,” began Hermione carefully. “Can you please let my sister know Hermione is here?”

The two eyed her like some strange creature, but then shrugged.

“Go right in,” one said, and then the two tripped over the lip of the portrait and went on their way down the hall.

Hermione stared after them as the portrait remained on its hinges.

“Well,” urged Barty. “You heard them. Go in.”

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped into the brightly lit room. The large fireplace that she used to sit in front of was inviting and warm; the arm chairs and low-slung scarlet loveseat in front of it was occupied by several students, one who had their feet up on the coffee table, an arm slung around his girlfriend.

Her gaze was next drawn to the opposite by the tall, skinny window, heavy velvet curtains drawn back. A chair and small, round table were unoccupied, but in her mind’s eye, she could visualize a younger her, with bushy brown hair and slightly buck-toothed, frantically combing through a heavy text for answers for her latest assignment, unaware of everything around her.

Fondness crept through her and Hermione forcibly banished such a feeling as soon as she recognized it. _I’m no longer a Gryffindor. That past of mine is barred from me,_ she thought viciously, and turned to the girl’s staircase.

She received a few curious glances - her blue and bronze uniform striking among the red of the Gryffindor Common Room, but no one stopped her as she began to ascend -- mainly because she could hear the whispers that they thought they kept from her:

_“That’s her - the girl who stood up to the Marauders!”_

_“Evans’ sister, I heard--”_

_“--she must be really smart, as a Ravenclaw--”_

She climbed up the four floors and knocked on the fifth year girls’ dormitory door, which was shut. After a moment, it swung open. The lithe, black-haired girl in a rumpled uniform who answered quickly shifted her annoyed expression into wariness, as she looked Hermione up and down.

“Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder and pushed the door open wider. “Lily -- it’s your sister.”

Hermione tentatively stepped into a room she knew well, looking around. It was the first time in this decade that she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, and the girl’s dorm by extension. She had never visited Lily in the past, and her sister never visited her in Ravenclaw. It was an odd feeling, seeing familiar four-poster beds, the silky red hangings, but not seeing Lavender’s _Weird Sisters_ poster, or Parvati spreading out her exercise mat for her morning salutations.

“Thanks,” she said, leaving the door open.

She didn’t press her advantage further into the room, feeling -- for the first time _ever_ \-- like she was a stranger in this time. Before, she had distanced herself out of mental self-preservation and forced apathy. Now, having tried and beginning to make an effort with people in this time, integrating, she never felt more like an interloper in a sacred space.

Lily jackknifed up from where she was lying on her bed, staring wide-eyed at her sister in the doorway. She too remained in her school uniform, a rumpled white Oxford and unknotted tie. Her red hair was dishevelled and her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Hermione? What are you doing here?”

Frowning, Hermione cut her eyes at the other girls in the room, all of whom were shamelessly watching. “I wanted to let you know what happened after you left.”

“We already told her,” said the black-haired girl who let her in, her voice dry. She crossed her arms and took up an aggressive hip-cocked stance against her bed. Her blue eyes were cool as they watched her.

 _Marlene,_ Hermione’s brain supplied. Her eyes shifted to the curvy witch on the bed opposite to Lily, who had a brush in her hand and was working through a curl in her hair. _Mary MacDonald_ , Hermione continued, and looked for the last girl who sat next to Lily on her bed, Phoebe.

“I see,” said Hermione lowly.

Lily’s face pinched. “Did you go to dinner?”

Hermione shook her head. “I ducked out with Barty. I didn’t see the point.” _And I didn’t want to be stared at_.

Lily nodded. “I guess that’s why you didn’t know that I knew -- the girls already told me. Phoebe had stayed behind as she was talking to Alice. Oh - you don’t know her--”

 _Sure I do,_ thought Hermione, although the thought didn’t appear on her face. Instead, it smoothed a bit more, mimicking Regulus’s Pureblood look. _She’s Neville’s mother._

“--but she’s a sixth year,” finished Lily. The redhead sighed, scrubbing at her face. “Listen – ‘Mione -- I’m not really in the mood to talk, okay? Why don’t you go back to Ravenclaw and just read your books or whatever it is you do?”

The tired tone to Lily’s voice, as well as her bland delivery, had Hermione frowning. By the time she finished the sentence, Hermione felt a spark of anger rise in her.

 _Go read my books?_ She scowled.

“I came here to check on you, given that you lost your so-called best friend today, but now I see that there’s something else we need to discuss,” she began, her voice tightening. “Like whether or not what Sirius said is true.”

Lily’s entire form stiffened. “I beg your pardon?” her voice was shrill as it rose.

Hermione nodded. “Oh, you heard me. Are you ashamed of me, Lily? Is that why you don’t tell people who I am? Go out of your way to never address me?”

Lily launched off the bed to stare at Hermione, paces away. Around her, the Gryffindor girls tensed; Mary slowly let her hand that was holding the brush fall to her bed.

“Ashamed?” Lily gave a tiny laugh, but it was mocking. “How can I be ashamed of you, Hermione? You said it yourself - it’s not like anyone knows who you are.”

“Oh, but you definitely have a problem with me right now,” said the other sister, keeping her voice cool. “And I think you have for awhile. Since your third year or so. So - what gives?”

“Nothing!” The denial was quick and sharp.

Hermione slowly nodded. “You know what, Lily? I don’t think you quite know yourself. I mean, you pretty much sold out your best friend because he called you a nasty slur--”

“He’s a racist! A bigot!” snapped Lily, two spots of red appearing on her cheeks. “He’s been hanging around the likes of Mulciber and Travers for _years_ now and doing unspeakable things in the dungeons!”

“He was with those two when they cursed Mary,” inserted Marlene, jerking her head to the girl on the bed who froze as all eyes swung to her. “What was it, Mar? A strip tease that would’ve progressed a lot further if Flitwick hadn’t come around?” the teen’s cool eyes turned back to Hermione. “A variant of _Imperio_ , I believe the Professors said.”

“And was Snape involved in it?” asked Hermione pointedly.

“He stood by,” argued Lily hotly.

“But it didn’t bother you at the time,” replied Hermione, eyes narrowed. “So it was okay then when he was an observer to your _friend and roommate_ forced to give a strip tease -- but it’s not now. He was still hanging out with Mulciber and Travers when that happened, too. Oh! -- It was okay last year when Marlene called you a boyfriend-stealing ginger _cunt_ , if I remember correctly, when Gideon Prewett asked you out, and you forgave her.”

Lily breathed heavily in through her nostrils. “That’s different.”

“You can’t have it one way and not the other, Lily,” said Hermione quietly. “Either Snape is bad news because he called you a racial slur just as Marlene called you a nasty word because the intentions behind it were both to hurt and harm you -- or it’s okay with your Gryffindor friends mess up and call you names but not the Slytherin.”

“There’s a difference to what _he_ said to what _Marley_ said!”

“Really?” Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “Also -- let’s point out that he wasn’t even speaking _to_ you -- he was speaking to me.”

“Yeah, about that,” replied Lily hotly, “What gives? You never liked him so why are you suddenly so invested in me staying friends with him?”

“I find it hypocritical,” sighed Hermione. “I understand and recognize that being called the equivalent to a racial slur is not the same as being called a cunt, but the intent to harm is the same behind it. It was said because he felt threatened and hurt.”

Marlene shifted to glare at Hermione.

Lily began silently to seethe as she clenched her hands at her side. Hermione watched her warily as Lily’s green eyes narrowed, recognizing the signs from childhood that Lily was about to unleash her temper. Her voice began to rise as she spoke.

“Why is it okay that you get to have the friend in Slytherin and no one bothers you about it? It’s so unfair! Do you honestly think _Regulus Black_ is your friend, Hermione? He’s a Pureblood and a Slytherin and a Black -- he and his kind look down on people like us! How can you stand there and talk about friendship and hypocrisy?”

“I know very well where I stand with Reg,” answered Hermione calmly, but there was a hint of steel in her tone. “Just like I know what people in Slytherin call me when they realize I’m around him. I don’t care about being called a mudblood, Lily. I never have.”

 _How can I?_ thought Hermione, glancing down at the carpet and then her left arm, where Bellatrix once had Fenrir Greyback hold her down and carve the racial slur into her arm as a reminder of her position in magical society -- that she was nothing better than mud, nothing special. Hermione lived with the scar for over twenty years, and she had time to become numb to its meaning and to take it back as a badge of honour that she -- a nineteen-year-old Muggleborn girl from Crawley -- could scare the shit out of older and more dangerous witches and wizards.

Being called a mudblood was like calling the sky _blue_ \- it rolled off her back now. She had been called that and many other things -- and maybe it was just her mental age that gave her the apathetic slant to name-calling. She didn’t condone the use of the word, but she did think she was immune to its power over her.

“Oh, spare me,” groaned Lily, although it was sneeringly said. She rolled her eyes expressively, and her mouth was pulled down tight into a scowl. “Look at you -- Hermione Evans, so removed from everyone and everything that nothing bothers her!”

Hermione blinked. _What?_

Lily caught the facial tick. “What? Like this is news to you? Hermione -- you don’t _care_ about anyone or anything.”

“No--” Hermione found herself shaking her head in denial. “That’s not true--”

“ _Yes it is_!” shouted Lily back. “Do you know why I don’t acknowledge you? Huh? Hasn’t the _clever_ and _great_ Hermione figured it out? I’ll tell you!” she stepped forward and thrust an accusing finger at Hermione’s chest. “ _Because you don’t care about anyone or anything!_ ”

Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest and she aborted a step back in response. Her anger disappeared. _That’s not true. Not anymore_.

Lily however, was on a roll.

“God, I was so _excited_ to introduce you to magic when you first came here! But you didn’t _care_ , Hermione, you didn’t want to know any spells, you didn’t want to know _anything_ about Hogwarts. You get this amazing opportunity, a letter like me inviting you to this exclusive school where there is _magic_!” Lily shook her head, her cheeks flushed red and her emerald eyes sparkling with unshed, frustrated tears. “But instead of wanting to know everything, or enjoying Diagon Alley, what do you do?”

“I--”

“You just get your books and then disappear. You don’t gawk or ask questions or seemed awed by this amazing thing!” Lily shouted, her flush growing from her cheeks down her neck and towards the neckline of her shirt. “But _I am_! Magic is this wonderful, gorgeous thing and there you are, all clinical and detached. How could you? _How dare you?_ ”

“That’s not fair, Lily--” Hermione sputtered, eyes wide.

But Lily did not stop, her chest heaving as she continued to spew her thoughts. “But I thought -- _hey, that’s my sister_. She’s always been a bit weird, never mind! She’s never been interested in anything, even at home with mum and daddy! Except when we get to Hogwarts, you don’t need my help. You don’t want my help.”

 _This is a strange echo of Petunia_ , thought Hermione wildly, her eyes wide and her mouth open as she watched her relationship with her sister implode in the Gryffindor dorm.

“And you know what _really_ gets me? What _really_ bothers me, Hermione? You go to Ravenclaw and then _you fucking excel in everything you do!_ Like it’s easy or something without any hard work put into studying or practicing magic!”

 _Because it_ is, thought Hermione furiously, her anger roaring back as Lily continued to talk. _Because I have thirty years’ experience on everyone here! How dare you belittle my accomplishments because you have to work harder than you thought._

“I struggle and study and work my arse off to do well in my classes, because I fucking love magic! I love it! I love this world!” tears began to spill down Lily’s cheeks, but she didn’t notice. Hermione stared, transfixed.

“But you --” Lily shook her head. “Jesus, Hermione, you don’t give a shit about this world! You don’t care about grades or magic -- you just see it as something with purpose and what it can do for you. You don’t _deserve_ the wonder it brings.”

Hermione’s mouth turned down in a matching scowl. “You don’t know what I--”

“ _I DON’T CARE!”_

Hermione’s mouth snapped closed.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON’T CARE THAT YOU WRITE TO TUNEY AND SHE ACTUALLY REPLIES AND CARES FOR YOU OR WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU GET UP TO!” she furiously stamped her foot on the floor, and her red hair crackled with magic, making Hermione eye her warily. She shifted her stance slightly in case she need to throw a _protego_ up. “I DON’T CARE ANYMORE ABOUT YOU. I DON’T! I DON’T!”

Finally, Lily seemed to lose her steam, but she finished with an icy, “Just go back to Ravenclaw and hang out with your loser friend Crouch. Because you’re weird and sociopathic and I can’t even stand to look at you.”

_Well._

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, and she used that to tilt her chin up in a stubborn, Hermione Granger move that she had never utilized in this time. Ron and Harry, and Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ginny, Fred, George, and even Parvati and Lavender would recognize the move for what it was: the stubborn, furious tilt of a righteously scorned Hermione Granger who was plotting her targeted enemy’s downfall -- usually Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson or Marietta Edgecombe.

But here -- Lily didn’t know her. Didn’t want to get to know her. Her sister - _by blood_ in this timeline - thought she was weird. A loser. Someone who didn’t see the beauty in magic. Who called her a sociopath for not feeling the things she felt.

 _(Not true!_ a part of Hermione wailed in protest. _I feel things too! I feel hurt and anger and rage and love -- you’re my_ sister _how could you--)_

 Hermione may not ever sympathize with Severus Snape for his racial slur in a moment of emotional compromise, but in that moment, she’d happily march up to him and tell him that her sister wasn’t worth the effort. With a cold band wrapping around her heart, locking it securely from the feeling of abandonment and betrayal, Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Very well,” she replied, coolly, eyeing Lily’s form as she panted in exertion from her catharsis. Her eyes swept over the other girls in the room, all frozen and wide-eyed at being front seat spectators to the sisters’ fight, and then turned on her heel, stomping down the stone steps to the Common Room.

As soon as she emerged, she wanted to groan, as all eyes swung to her and then immediately moved away. The Gryffindors in the Common Room began talking loudly and obviously about _homework_ of all things, after OWLs and NEWTs were done!

Hermione could’ve smacked herself in the head for not remembering it sooner -- she had left the door open! They had all heard!

But there was one person who didn’t move away or talk -- rather, he stood transfixed at the bottom of the stairs, staring up with a rigid jaw and flashing hazel eyes as they moved from the darkened space to the weary Ravenclaw.

“... Hermione.”

She sighed. “I guess you heard all that, huh, Potter?”

His jaw tensed again and shifted, and Hermione imagined she could hear him grind his molars. His shoulders were tense and he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

“I--” he shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them, they were fixed firmly on her. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Sure, why not? How about we go up to your dorm room,” suggested Hermione, her shoulders falling. “If Black is up there, I can have someone else yell at me, too. I can have a matching gender pair from Gryffindor. Maybe then, I can visit Hufflepuff. I’m sure I’ve done something to offend them, too.”

A stricken look passed over James’s face.

“Hermione,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but quickly withdrew his hand. “Walk with me?”

Hermione glanced up again, taking in his face. There was something fierce in it, with his square jaw, almost jutting out in his annoyance; his jaw was clenched and tight, and she could see his pulse thudding furiously along his neck. His eyes were wide, the hazel a brighter green than brown behind his glasses -- but they were pleading, aching to do something.

It was because of that, that she sighed and said, “Yeah. Okay.”

He didn’t extend his hand and she didn’t step forward to meet him, but they turned at the same time and moved toward the back of the Fat Lady’s portrait, ever aware of the silence behind them and Hermione’s realization that by tomorrow, the entire school will know what Lily thought of her.

 _I just hope that’s the biggest news piece for tomorrow, and not Severus Snape being mauled by a werewolf,_ she thought morbidly.

However, once they were through the portrait, Hermione stopped dead, her eyes looking back and forth.

“Is something the matter?” asked James.

“Barty’s missing.”

Hermione stood, tense. She was still coming off the high from her argument with Lily, and her nerves were wrought with the idea of something happening to her truest friend in this time. Desperate to hide her trembling hands, she crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly as she glanced around the deserted hallway.

Her companion sighed, and muttered, “What I wouldn’t give for a map that shows where everyone was.”

The comment had Hermione’s lips twitch and she glanced at the tall, black-haired teen beside her. “You do realize you could make that, right?”

Startled, Potter turned wide hazel eyes on her. “What?”

“A map? That shows where everyone is?” elaborated Hermione. “Arithmancy. I mentioned the Poincaré theory before, I’m sure.”

“I--”

“Oh, you know what? Never mind. I need to find Barty,” Hermione broke in, her voice just shy of anxious. She felt the urge to pace. “If you’re interested in Poincaré, I’ll tell you some books to read, later.”

With that said, Hermione strode forward in one direction, aiming toward checking the Ravenclaw dormitory first, and then her practice classroom second. If both those spaces were empty, Hermione would be forced to search a wide spread of areas that Barty would rarely visit -- like her, he was a quiet creature that preferred a few locations that he felt comfortable in compared to a vast array of spaces. Many of the places where students could congregate at Hogwarts were meant for socializing, like the dorm common rooms, the Great Hall, or the grounds.

Despite her hurried steps, James kept up with her, nearly on her heels.

 _What could have taken him from waiting for me?_ She wondered, chewing on her bottom lip as her thoughts whirred through her mind. _Barty keeps his promises. He wouldn’t have just left without a reason, and he knew I was inside. He knew I hadn’t left. So why…?_

It wasn’t until they were down another hallway, with the dusky sun going down and casting long shadows that stretched and warped against the dark grey of the stone that James paused and cried, “There!”

Hermione whirled and raced to the teen’s side. He was leaning up against one of the thick mullioned windows that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds -- particularly, the forest. In the distance, behind the mountains, the sun dipped, turning the sky mottled shades of orange, indigo, and inky blue-black as the stars for that clear night began to appear. Above, the moon -- full -- was beginning to cast its light.

Hermione’s eyes roamed the ground, from Hagrid’s hut -- Barty wasn’t there and there was no smoke coming from the man’s home -- to the Lake -- he wasn’t there, either, casting stones toward the Giant Squid -- nor was Barty walking the various paths that led back to the school. He wasn’t by the gatehouse towards Hogsmeade, which left --

_NO._

The gut-wrenching, instinctive cry nearly burst from Hermione’s mouth and she clenched her hands against the cold stone of the windowsill, her shoulder brushing James’ as she leaned forward and nearly brushed her nose against the cold glass.

Barty, with his tall, lithe figure, was dogging the furious steps and pace of a lanky-black haired teen whose Hogwarts robe blended in with the growing darkness. If it weren’t for her familiarity with Barty, his straight brown hair, or his harried steps and gait, Hermione would not have been able to guess it was him from the distance.

“Shit,” muttered James at her side.

She glanced over and saw that his eyes were bouncing between the two figures and the full moon above them.

“Tell me your friends didn’t set Barty up in my place,” pled Hermione, turning fully to him, and reaching out to clutch at the sleeve nearest to her. James looked down at her in shock. “Tell me Black didn’t!”

“I wouldn’t!” protested James. “I would _never_! And as far as I know, neither did Sirius. I sent him after Snape to _stop_ this from happening. I swear, Hermione, I have no idea why those two are together.”

Hermione stared at him. “But they’re going to the Shack.”

James’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but he wet his lips and stammered, “Oh? And?”

“Don’t play stupid. I know _you_ know that Lupin is a werewolf,” replied Hermione.

James jerked back out of her grasp and she saw him twitch, an aborted move from going for his wand.

She instinctively reached for hers, her hand hovering outstretched for her wand to slip from its holster around her wrist and into her waiting palm. Hermione kept her eyes focused firmly on James while his bounced nervously between her face and the outstretched hand.

“Easy, Hermione -- I wasn’t going to curse you,” he said slowly, moving his hand away from his side pocket where he kept his wand.

Hermione waited a beat longer before letting her arm fall to her side; not that it wouldn’t take more than a flick for the wand to slide into her hand there, either. She relaxed her stance slightly. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. You and your friends have a habit of cursing students in the hallways.”

The pained looked was back on James’s face. “Not you.”

Hermione made a noise of disagreement. She turned her back on the Gryffindor and began walking away. “Excuse me - I have a friend to rescue.”

“I’m going, too.”

Hermione whirled on the spot to stare incredulously at James. “What?”

“You’re not going alone,” he replied, jaw tense. His hazel eyes flashed with something -- conviction? Determination? -- but he strode past her before Hermione could get a good look. Hermione’s mouth had dropped open a bit, and she closed it with a firm click as she followed behind, their steps increasing in pace until they were running by the time they reached the Entrance Hall.

Despite the balmy spring day from earlier, the night was chilled and there was a faint sheen of dew on the grass as the two left the shelter of their school and headed towards the Whomping Willow at the edge of the grounds near the Forbidden Forest.

Their steps were faint, and as James -- ahead of Hermione by a few paces -- turned around the corner of Hagrid’s pumpkin patch (now barren), Hermione followed and felt herself skid and slip with the momentum of her turn.

She gasped loudly as one of her feet fell out from under her, dropping to her knee and skinning it, and her palms, as she braced herself and pushed back up to continue.

James, however, had heard her and stopped, turning in surprise. He reached for her, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. His hands were warm on her. “Alright, Hermione?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“C’mon,” he muttered, letting go slowly and turning back to the way they were heading. “We don’t want to be -- late.”

Hermione pressed her mouth into a thin line. James did not have his wand out, letting the moonlight light their way across the grounds. Hermione followed suit, but she began subconsciously to reach for the magic in the air around her, like she had done earlier in the Room of Requirements and when she had shown Barty and Regulus her ability to manipulate magic.

Shortly, they arrived at a clearing out of sight from Hogwarts, just at the edge of where the Willow had been planted. Its limbs were still, the tree resting. That would change the moment they stepped close. Hermione remembered from her own adventures in her third year with Harry and Ron and the desperation that nipped at her when they had seen the Grim -- later revealed as Sirius -- drag Ron by the leg into the passage underneath the Willow.

Just as easily, she remembered the knot to push to get the Willow to stop flailing -- but without Crookshanks, how were they going to do it?

“Do you - do you think Barty is already in there?” she whispered through bloodless lips. _God, I hope he’s okay…_

James’s own mouth thinned but the worry in his eyes betrayed the calm tone of his voice. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Hermione stared at him.

Flushing under her gaze, James raced forward -- and then the Whomping Willow came alive. There were hints -- the slow creaks of the bark as the tree began to shift and sway -- and then the leaves rustled, there was a whistling noise as the limbs cut sharply through the air and the tree came alive.

James ducked under one thick branch, and hopped another. Hermione bit her lip and took a few aborted steps forward, but remained out of reach, her eyes locked on the Gryffindor teen, and his lean figure as he wove and ducked and even rolled in a forward somersault to avoid being hit. It was clear he had practice avoiding the branches.

Then, breathlessly, he pressed up against the thick trunk and began to flail, looking for the knot to freeze the tree. With a slam of his palm, he hit the knot and the Willow paused, its branches outstretched and a few close to whipping James away from its trunk. Hermione darted forward, changing her direction at the last moment when she remembered doing the same to Harry and both of them tumbling down into the passage underneath. She instead slammed into the trunk next to him.

“Blimey, Hermione!” gasped James, stretching a hand out and running it down her back. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Fine! We need to go!”

He nodded and then ducked down, sliding feet forward between a wide gap in the roots into the tunnel. There, he did withdraw his wand and lit it with a murmured “lumos,” just as Hermione slid in behind him. Her pupils went wide, adjusting to the lack of light except for the pinprick of James’s wand.

Both stood shock still, for a long, breathless moment as they listened to the creeks of the Willow coming alive above them. Hermione closed her eyes and strained for a bit more, ignoring the sound of her breathing.

 _Barty. Barty, where are you?_ She thought, swallowing thickly. _Please, we can’t be too late, please._

Then she heard it, the creeks of floorboards and the soft voices of swears and reprimands, two harsh tones of young men in far over their heads with something that maybe only Snape vaguely understood in his own desire and punish Remus and the other Marauders.

“Let’s go,” she mouthed to James, who had his own head tilted in the direction of the noise. Hermione was reminded that it was likely he was already an animagus, given the nicknames he and his friends had brandied about; and that stags were able to recognize and hear sounds with a greater field than human ears could.

James nodded, ending the light from his wand and plunging them into darkness. Despite the pitch-black tunnel, Hermione could tell James had moved; but forward or back, she wasn’t sure as she was frozen, unable to extend her senses to make her _move_.

Then, a warm hand wrapped around hers. Tingles raced from her palm up her arm and her heartbeat reflected the sudden onset of nerves and anticipation. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks, and was thankful that James couldn’t tell. There was just something about being in the dark with him. Maybe it was his presence or confidence he wore, as he expertly led her down the tunnel with their feet sending tiny rocks and pebbles skittering away that captivated her.

Hermione didn’t remember how long the tunnel was; the last time she and Harry had been down, they were both nearly mindless with worry and fear about Ron. This time, even though she was worried about Barty, about what she was about to walk into ( _a teenage werewolf - a bloody mess - a battle?_ ), she had experienced and her mental age, as well as several battles’ experience, to draw back on. She took a deep breath.

Then, her breath froze in her lungs as James pressed up to her, his front to hers as he leaned down and in close to her ear. Their bodies were touching from shoulders to stomachs to hips and thighs. Hermione’s heart, which had started to calm, racketed up to thundering levels.

“There’s a trapdoor coming up,” he breathed into her ear, hotly. Hermione blinked and repressed a shiver. “Your friend and Snape are there. We need to move quickly before they open it.”

“If they open it…?” Hermione let the question trail.

James’s voice was grim when he replied. “Then I’ll have Remus to fight off.”

Hermione nodded her head once, brushing against his chin and jaw. Taking that was a sign of agreement, James moved away, turning. His hand held in hers, but she knew that would end soon enough, so she slipped her wand into her hand.

They turned a corner, suddenly blinded by the light of both Barty and Snape’s wands. Barty was hanging just slightly back from Snape, an irate expression on his face as he scowled deeply and leaned against the rough tunnel wall. Snape, on the other hand, at a feverish expression on his face, his eyes alit with inner conviction as he slung spell after spell at the trapdoor that led into the ground floor of the Shrieking Shack. The iron lock remained latched, the wooden square not even shuddering as each colourful unlocking spell splashed harmlessly against it.

“Why won’t it open?” he muttered, just as James launched himself forward, slamming bodily into Snape, crushing him against the slope of the tunnel where it ended.

“Barty!” gasped Hermione, racing forward and launching herself at her friend, whose scowl and crossed arms (and wand) dropped to his sides as she collided with him. “Are you okay? What are you even _doing_ here?”

“Hermione…?”

There was a scuffle and Snape sneering, “Get off me, Potter!”; they both turned to see James being shoved away, tripping over his feet. Hermione caught his arm and steadied him, the three of them facing Snape who was breathing heavily.

“Come to stop me, have you?” the Slytherin taunted, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. “You can’t stop me! I’ll see what secret keeps Lupin here once a month! I’ll unmask him to the entire school! Then they’ll know what a monster he is, and what monsters you are for being in league with such a disgusting creature!”

“Leave Remus alone! He’s done nothing to do!” shot back James, brows furrowed.

Snape laughed darkly. “Yes, exactly. He’s done _nothing_!”

And before James could reply, the lock on the trapdoor above Snape’s head clicked.

Everyone froze, their eyes fixated on the lock.

Then, the wood shuddered, and something that sounded like claws or nails scraped across it.

“Snape,” said James, through trembling lips. “Move away. Slowly. Come here.”

Snape’s dark eyes were locked on the trembling trapdoor above his head, but he obeyed silently and began to take a few tentative steps in their direct.

A loud growl from above had him freeze.

“Snape! _Please_!” begged Hermione, reaching out with a hand. “We need to go!”

But something dark crossed over his face and he let his eyes drift from the trapdoor to Hermione’s face. His face twisted into something ugly as he spat, “I came all this way -- I won’t stop --”

The trapdoor shuddered once more. Above, something howled.

Then the door was pulled back, open.

There was no light in the Shrieking Shack, its windows boarded up and crisscrossed with planks, but even so, the four beneath in the tunnel could see the gleaming amber eyes and the flash of white from sharp teeth.

“Oh fuck,” muttered James, eyes wide behind his glasses. Hermione, who still held onto James’s side from when she caught him earlier, could feel his entire body spasm underneath her hands. “Move.” the word was said quietly, but then he shouted it in her face: “ _MOVE_!”

The word broke through the air. Above, Remus in his werewolf form let out an ear-splitting howl and pressed his body through the small opening of the trapdoor, landing nearly on top of Snape who shrieked loudly.

Someone shouted her name -- Barty, likely -- but both Hermione and James were moving forward, James’ form rippling and the red of his uniform turning brown while Hermione swung her wand from the tunnel walls and ripped chunks of loose rock toward Remus, sending them into his side and knocking him off course and away from Snape.

Barty was there, reaching low and dragging a stunned Snape forward just as above them, a large stag, head low and antlers sharp, barrelled into the wolf. There was a loud snort from the stag and the wolf growled in response.

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” shouted Hermione, eyes wide as they caught Barty’s. They turned as one, with Barty shoving Snape ahead of him. The Slytherin was shaking, his already pale face entirely white as the three scrambled after one another back down the tunnel.

Bits of loose dirt and even some small stones fell from the ceiling around them as the walls shuddered, a few hitting Hermione on her shoulders as she ducked and brought her non-wand hand up to protect her head. Behind them, they could hear the sound of grunts, growls, snorts, and short barks, often timed to the shudders.

There was a yip, and then the sound of claws scrambling on stone.

Hermione met Barty’s eyes. The fear in his brown eyes had her turn, jutting her jaw and swinging her wand up as she nonverbally transfigured the loose rocks and hanging roots from plants above them into a stone and wood barrier. It wasn’t perfect, the transfiguration shoddy and quick, with irregular gaps between the squares and with some latticed pieces thicker than the others. But it would buy them some time.

Ahead, Snape disappeared beyond their sight. Barty’s expressive mouth twisted into a scowl. “Dick,” he muttered. He turned to Hermione. “Will that hold?”

“For now,” she replied, eyes wide as they began to back up just as a dark shadow moved. Hermione had no time to call out a warning as the shape crashed into her gate, sending shards of wood and rock everywhere. It broke the wolf’s momentum, though, and he tumbled headfirst into the floor, scraping the lower part of his jaw against the tunnel’s earthen ground. Dazed, the wolf swayed and stumbled as it tried to rise.

“RUN!” Barty shouted.

Hermione wasted no time, nearly skidding on her heel as they raced shoulder-to-shoulder down the narrow tunnel. Hermione could hear Remus’s wolf counterpart behind them, the wolf’s stench gaining on them.

Just as they spotted the wide, root entrance from the Willow, Barty let out a cry of surprise. Hermione turned -- just as Barty went flying into the side of the tunnel, his eyes and mouth wide and open as he stared down at his side. His hand fluttered above the four long gashes, cut through his jacket and sweater to his skin. Blood oozed out thickly.

“Hermione?” he weakly asked, eyes looking at her, just as something heavy slammed into her and sent her sprawling to the ground.

She bit back a scream as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the dripping snout of Moony. His mouth opened and she watched as his gleaming teeth descended.

 _No!_ She cried in her mind, and reached for the ambient magic in the ground, soaked with Hogwart’s magic that leaked from the castle and permeated the very earth the castle stood on. It was weak, being far from its source, but enough that sparks of fire and electricity raced down Hermione’s hand and collated into her fist. She swung.

Moony’s wolf face twisted to the side and he whined painfully, the move forcing the majority of his mass off her. It was enough for her to pull back and stand, just as James in his Prongs animagus form, followed by a large black dog skidded to a stop near them. The stag glanced between Barty and herself, tossed his head, and then planted himself firmly between them and the wolf. In the meantime, the dog was nipping at the wolf’s legs, making him dance and whine as he was forced from his bloodied prey.

Hermione stumbled the few steps to Barty’s side and slung her arm around his back while pulling his non-injured side to hers. Still, he moaned and hissed.

“C’mon, Barty,” she whispered, her throat tight. “You can do this. A few steps, a short climb, and I promise everything will be okay.”

His glassy eyes focused on her shortly, before shutting, but he nodded. There was a sheen of sweat and his face was pale, a milky-white that Hermione didn’t like. Each step was painful and exceedingly slow in Hermione’s mind as they moved as one closer and closer to the entrance, until they were at the slope.

Hermione bit her lip. _How am I going to get him up? Levitate him?_

Then Snape was there, reaching down through the hole.

“Here!” he shouted, stretching his hands and Hermione wondered at the relief she felt from someone she thought abandoned them. She shoved Barty forward, just as Snape grabbed his arms and hauled him up; Hermione pushed against Barty’s bum and legs, and the Ravenclaw teen groaned.

But he was out.

Hermione turned her head, watching as Padfoot and Prongs kept Moony busy, away from them. James must have sensed her look back, because the stag drew up to his full height, antlers scratching the top of the tunnel and bringing rocks down around him as he turned to look at her. His body blocked the entire tunnel from one side to the other, his form massive in the confined space.

She nodded once, and said, “Thank you,” before turning and scrambling up the slope.

Snape’s hands reached for her, and yanked; she resisted crying out against the sharp pull on her shoulders until she was face-down in the dewy grass, legs still dangling half in the hole behind her. Above, the Whomping Willow remained frozen, but only just.

“We need to go,” she muttered to Snape.

The Slytherin teen nodded frantically, once, twice; and together they hauled Barty up and between them, trying to matching their steps as they left the Whomping Willow’s clearing.

They made it only to the edge of the clearing.

“ _What is the meaning of this?!”_

At the furious voice, Hermione, who had been looking down and concentrating on counting her steps, glanced up.

At Barty’s other side, Snape froze and between them, Barty’s groan of pain merged into a moan of despair.

Just steps from them stood Albus Dumbledore, in a vibrant fuchsia robe with twinkling stars, his blue eyes furious, and his white beard stiff in his anger, the elder wand in his dominant hand nearly thrumming with magic.

Hermione closed her eyes. _Well, maybe the students of Hogwarts_ will _get to hear about more than just my falling out with Lily tomorrow morning, after all._

**

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry this was so late – it’s been... a crazy month or so... which includes electrocuting myself. It was an incredibly scary moment and I’m pretty sure in an alternate universe I died. I am lucky to be alive given the scenario (touched 2 of 3 prongs still in a socket) but I did have blisters on my hands and I’ve been having issues with my left hand since.
> 
> In other news, I didn’t win any awards in the Shrieking Shack’s Marauders Medals for 2018, but I am still honoured and pleased at being nominated for Best WIP and Best James. This story is crazy popular and I am so happy that it is being well received by everyone. I hope you keep enjoying, and now that the important fifth-year OWL and resulting events are technically done and over, we can move forward. :)
> 
> Next update will be _Cursed Be_ and then _Winter Witch_ ; once the fall semester is over, I expect updates to come much quicker.


	10. The Hardest Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character who shows up at the end is fancasted with Andrew Garfield with his long hair in _Silence_ and his Peter Parker glasses.

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

X

* * *

"The hardest part about living in the past is that everything you tell everybody will be a lie. It's possible to forget who you really are, and you'll want to reach out, make a connection. I made that mistake. If you get too close, you forget what you came for."

\- Al Templeton,  _11/22/63_ , 5: "The Truth"

* * *

Everything came in blurs as they raced toward the Hospital Wing. Hermione smelled the damp, dewy air; there was a chill; the stone of the castle under her feet was hard and uneven; there were shouts and cries of alarm from the portraits as they ran past, Barty's still form bobbing in the air as Dumbledore controlled the spell.

At her side, Severus Snape stood pale.

Then, the Matron, Madam Pomfrey, was there, her wand in her hand, mouth already moving and running off diagnostic spells, one after another that they were almost one long string of Latin. Her face - tense, with prominent lines already carved in it - deepened further as she turned to Hermione and Snape and barked, "What happened to him?"

"I would like to know as well," said Dumbledore in a tightly controlled voice.

Hermione ignored that as she turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Can you help him?"

"If I knew what I attacked him!" the woman replied, in exasperation. "Why, it  _looks_  like a werewolf mauled him, but there aren't any wolves around Hogwarts!"

Hermione slowly moved her head to level a glare at Dumbledore, who did fidget for a moment. She then turned back and said, quietly, "It was a werewolf."

"Goodness!" The matron then glanced between her and Snape. "What about the two of you?"

"Barty first," replied Hermione, firmly.

Pomfrey nodded and led the still floating and unconscious form of Barty away, down the lines of empty beds until she reached the end. There, she drew the curtain and began her work. Hermione's eyes tracked her progress, and she locked them on the white curtain that separated her from her best friend.

At her side, Snape was clenching and unclenching his hands - a nervous gesture, she assumed; it wasn't long before Dumbledore turned away from looking at them in disappointment to go to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. Within minutes, both Professor Slughorn and Professor Flitwick were breathlessly arriving in the hospital wing.

Flitwick made his way directly to Hermione, wringing his hands and looking her up and down as he squeaked, "Oh, my dear, my dear! Are you hurt?"

Hermione shook her head, slowly, and found herself being steered to a nearby bed where she could still see the drawn curtain. Flitwick levitated himself up and sat next to her, taking one of her hands in his and patting it every so often. Behind her, Hermione could hear Slughorn speaking quietly to Snape, although the other teen refused to answer.

A pricking of her magic warned Hermione that someone was staring at her. She turned her head a bit and caught Dumbledore's mouth turned down in a deep frown under his white mustache. Hastily, Hermione turned her head away, throwing up whatever shields she had learned as a Ministry employee to combat against a Legilimency master's probe.

Dumbledore's frown deepened.

Snape's shaking slowly started to fade, until he was sitting on his bed next to Hermione, staring down at his hands, encrusted in dirt and blood. His long hair was dishevelled and - Hermione bit her lips to stop an inappropriate laugh - there was a twig stuck near the back. He was paler than normal, and his robes were torn, covered in dirt and grass stains.

Hermione knew she was a sight, too. Remus in his Moony form had nearly ripped her throat out; parts of her uniforms were covered in the greyish spots of dried werewolf saliva. She had scraped her hands and knees at two different points during the frantic run through the tunnels under the Shrieking Shack, and she knew she had Barty's blood, as well as hers, mixed on her clothing.

Eventually, the lights from the wall torches flickered and dulled as the sun began to peak, spilling across the stone floors in a gentle hue of golden honey. The gloom from the evening began to fade, but the gloomy atmosphere in the hospital wing remained, as Hermione wedged her hands between her knees and gripped her fingers tightly to stop them from wringing. Madame Pomfrey had yet to emerge from behind the curtain where Barty was, and Hermione's nerves were beginning to fray.

At some point, Dumbledore whispered quietly to Flitwick, and the two disappeared after asking Slughorn to keep watch, which the man did with a solemn nod.

When they reappeared, a sickly Remus hung between them, eyes darting back and forth in the hospital wing. Behind, followed James, Sirius, and Peter, each covered with gashes; James' glasses were broken and Peter had a nasty head wound, still bleeding while Sirius limped, hanging off of James. Behind them, McGonagall appeared, her lips pressed into a very tight, thin line.

Dumbledore's expression - one that was of firm disapproval when he had seen her, Barty, and Snape - was now unbridled fury. The very air was tense and thick with his magic as it vibrated, echoing his emotions. Hermione could feel her own magic wanting to respond, with Hogwarts at her fingertips ready to rise in response, but she pushed it down and back.

 _Hide, hide, hide_ , she told herself, whispering to her magic and pushing it down, imagining a lid slamming shut and throwing away a lock.

Flitwick's eyes were shrewd as they darted between Remus - whom the staff knew was a werewolf - to that of Hermione and Snape, Barty behind the curtains, and then the other Marauders. Slughorn's mouth had dropped open, and his eyes were wide as he took in the four Gryffindors.

"I donnae where to begin," rumbled McGonagall, her voice rolling between a thick Scottish burr in her anger and the low growl of an angry cat.

Shamefaced, James helped Sirius sit down on the bed opposite Hermione, gingerly sitting with him while Peter took the one behind, furthest from the professors as he made himself small behind the broad shoulders of the two black-haired teens. Flitwick and Dumbledore gently placed Remus in the bed opposite of Snape, who blinked once and then tucked his chin against his chest as he looked down at his lap.

Slughorn, from Snape's side, placed a heavy hand on the teen's shoulder. Snape slowly turned to look up at him, a blank expression on his face as he did so. The professor began, "Now, Severus, m'boy-"

"HERMIONE? BARTY?"

The hospital wing doors banged open. Hermione's head jerked up as the doors banged off the wall as Regulus Black stormed in. His hair, shorter than Sirius', was in disarray, his tie was askew, and his shirt wrinkled. There were stress lines around his mouth as his wide grey eyes took in the sight of four professors and the six teenagers on various beds. Regulus' eyes lingered briefly on Sirius as they alit on his older brother, blinking in surprise.

"Reg-"

Then they skipped over him and went straight to Hermione, zeroing in on her and striding purposefully across the tile as he ignored the professors.

"Regulus-" broke in Slughorn, but stopped when the young Black heir shot him a glare that made the made snap his mouth shut so forcefully his jaw quivered.

"Mr. Black,  _what_  are you doing here?" asked an exasperated McGonagall as the teen walked past her, but huffing from the door had the others turn back.

James yelped in surprise, " _Lily_?"

 _Oh, wonderful,_  thought Hermione sourly, mentally sighing and bringing her hands to her head to cradle it as she dug her fingers through her curls.

Hermione's redheaded sister was leaning against the doorframe, out of breath and emerald eyes wide as she took in those in the hospital wing.

" _Man_ , you can -  _huff_ \- run fast -  _huff_ \- when you want -  _huff_ \- Black," she gasped, slowly straightening. As she took in everyone in the room, their eyes locked on her, she gave a tiny, gasping, "Oh!"

" _Hermione_ ," the Slytherin said, eyes on hers as he came to a stop just a foot from her on the bed. He spoke forcefully, but Hermione could hear the tremble. "Where's Barty? Where is he? Is he well?"

Unbidden, Hermione's eyes darted to the taut curtain at the far end of the hospital wing, where Barty lay. Regulus' eyes followed and he slightly swayed. Hermione's hand shot out and she reached for Regulus'. He changed their grips so that he was tightly clutching at her hand.

Slowly, Lily edged into the hospital wing, moving toward Hermione as Dumbledore turned a frown on Regulus. "That is what  _we_  would like to know, Mr. Black." He turned back to Hermione, Snape, and then the four Marauders. "Who would like to start?"

"Start?" echoed Lily, her voice quiet as she slid into the spot between Hermione's bed and Snape's, her back to her ex-best friend. Snape's dark eyes trailed on Lily, fixated on her back as she blatantly ignored him. "Hermione, what happened last night? What's going on?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.  _Lily_ wanted to know what happened after she loudly proclaimed she didn't care what Hermione got up to?  _The_ nerve, thought Hermione, suddenly furious.

Instead, she stared at her sister, tightening her mouth into a tight line before she deliberately turned to Regulus. "I haven't been told anything since we got here about Barty."

Regulus's face pinched.

"Hermione?" Lily made a move to touch her sister's shoulder but aborted the move. "Are you hurt?"

The Ravenclaw glanced up and said, shortly, "No, not really."

"You're covered in dirt! And blood!" argued Regulus, his voice low. "Has no one even cast  _scourgify_  or  _tergeo_?"

Hermione shook her head, squeezing Regulus' hand. She let her voice drop into a low murmur, "It's fine."

The other Black - the Slytherin one - scowled.

"Whose blood is this?" asked Lily, her own voice thin and reedy as she stared down at her little sister. "Hermione - if it's not yours-?"

"Some of it is mine," she confirmed, very aware that everyone else was listening. "Most of it is Barty's."

"Oh - Oh, God…" Lily's eyes widened. "Is there -" concerned warred with her annoyance at her sister, and Hermione watched as Lily tried to reign in her emotions from the previous night with the knowledge that her sister was hurt and her best friend even more so. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I'm fine," replied Hermione, her words clipped. She levelled a hard look at the Gryffindor. "Thanks."

Lily's mouth opened, but whatever she was going to say was abruptly stopped as Madam Pomfrey emerged from the drawn curtain around Barty's bed. Immediately, Hermione shot to her feet, nearly tripping in her haste but Regulus steadied her. Together, they turned and presented a united from with Professor Flitwick hastily skipping forward as well.

"How is he?"

"What happened to Barty?"

The two teenager's voices tumbled over each other as they spoke, their words mingling. Pomfrey glanced between the two, their pinched faces and furrowed, worried brows, and then turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster, perhaps this conversation is best had among the professors?"

McGonagall nodded decisively. "Yes, of course. Come along, Miss Evans, Mr. Black; you'd both best get to breakfast, and then begin packing. The Express will leave tomorrow and I'm sure there are things you need to finish before then."

Lily immediately backed away, nodding at her Head of House. She mustered a wobbly, pained smile at Hermione, which faded quickly, and then left the hospital wing.

"Mr. Black?" the Scottish witch's burr thickened as the tones delved into a bit of anger of being disobeyed.

"I'm not leaving my friends," he replied stubbornly, not even turning his head toward her, staring hard at Pomfrey.

"Quite right, too!" chirped Flitwick, although there was a gravity to his face that Hermione rarely remembered seeing except for the night of the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998.

With a Head's blessing, Pomfrey sighed; her face was paler and more worn than Hermione remembered from earlier in the evening when they first appeared, and the healer nodded wearily. She turned to the professors, many who clustered together near where Snape sat.

"Professor Slughorn, I will need you to replenish my potions stores," she began. "Particularly healing salve, blood replenishing, and essence of dittany."

Sirius swore under his breath, but in the quiet of the hospital wing, all heard it.

Slughorn's face was grave when he nodded. "As soon as possible, m'dear."

"How is Mr. Crouch doing, Madam Pomfrey?" asked Flitwick, his normally chipper voice - his excited squeaks and enthusiastic cadences - near flat. "What happened to him?"

James and Sirius leaned in toward Remus, who looked up, his face solemn and tense, like a prisoner waiting for the proclamation of his trial verdict. The fidgeting of his hands on the blanket of the bed was another indication of how nervous he was.

"Mr. Crouch was attacked by a werewolf," the healer said, carefully not looking at the Gryffindor teenagers.

 _So, you know,_  thought Hermione, eyes narrowing. Just  _how many_  professors and employees at Hogwarts were aware of Dumbledore's decision to allow Remus to attend Hogwarts? She had nothing against the Gryffindor teen at all, but there were several glaring inconsistencies regarding safety when she had attended Hogwarts the first time around, and it wasn't pretty learning that Dumbledore was always so blasé or ignorant of safety measures towards his students in  _any_  time.

From his side of the room, Remus collapsed in on himself, burrowing his head in his hands. There was a pained moan from him, and all colour that Hermione could see between his fingers was that of a sickly green.

The Matron continued, "Mr. Crouch will make a full recovery, but the marks on his chest and hip will scar. Despite it being a full moon, he was  _not_  bitten and therefore is not a werewolf. He will, however, have lupine traits going forward."

"And what will that entitle?" asked Flitwick.

Hermione already knew; she had seen it in Bill Weasley after Greyback's attack. She closed her eyes as Madam Pomfrey's voice and explanation washed over her: "Enhanced senses, heightened emotions, a craving for things a bit more raw, meats-"

There was a gagging noise and Remus barely had time to shove Sirius away as he leaned over the bed and threw up.

"Mr. Lupin!" gasped McGonagall, waving her wand and vanishing the mess but not the smell. She did another wave and that disappeared, too. But the teen did not move, half bowed over the bed as he sucked in deep gasps of air.

Sirius pressed a hand on his back only for it to be violently shoved off. The Black took a startled step back, eyes wide.

Dumbledore's eyes cut toward the teenager, and then back at Snape and Hermione. His voice was flat when he asked without any inflection, sternly, "What. Happened."

When no one spoke, the air around them in the hospital wing thickened, like humidity before a summer storm would break, and his voice rumbled in low warning. " _Now_."

Hermione looked down, peeking from under her lashes at the Gryffindors opposite her as they too, looked around or down at the ground. Even Snape, who would normally be the first to point a finger at James Potter or Sirius Black, kept his mouth shut.

Eventually, James shifted, and Hermione knew he was about to speak, to take any and all blame for what happened the previous night. His mouth opened, but it was not his voice Hermione heard.

"It's my fault."

Regulus's head whipped around so fast that his entire body moved and Hermione stumbled forward in response as they both stared at Sirius, who stepped forward, a grim look on his face. He took a thick swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in response. His eyes were determined, however, and Hermione felt the first stirrings of good feelings toward the teen for the first time since the lake-side confrontation.

James turned to look at Sirius for a breathless second. He turned back to the professors, and squared his shoulders. "No, it's mine."

Comically, McGonagall and Slughorn's head bounced back and forth between the two, while Flitwick narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Hermione could not see Dumbledore's from her angle, half-blocked by Regulus, but she was sure they were twinkling when his pawns did something he appreciated.

"Mr. Black," began McGonagall, hesitantly, "Mr. Potter-"

"I helped," said the most unlikely of all people, and this time, Hermione's jaw dropped as Peter - the timid, shy teen who hid behind Sirius and James earlier, slid off his bed and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them.

"No," said a weak voice, and Remus hauled himself off his bed from behind them, one hand on James's and Sirius's shoulders and he pressed between them. James turned his body to angle towards Remus, slipping an arm around his friends' broad shoulders to help him steady. "I'm a werewolf." There was a firm look of resigned resolution on his face, the facial slashes a stark white against his skin as he proclaimed his creature status. "It's my fault."

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes, and mutter, "It's hardly your fault because of your affliction, Lupin -"

"Oh,  _of course_ , you'd take their side!" sneered Snape, turning toward her.

"How dare you-!" began a furious Regulus, and then the seven of them were shouting over one another, accusations flying across the room.

" _-He didn't ask to be a werewolf!"_

" _-Always taking each other's sides, I don't know why I'd expect any differently-"_

" _Who was the fool who listened to Sirius Black?"_

" _-Thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart-"_

" _Don't project your own insecurities, Snape-"_

"ENOUGH!"

The room went silent, and the teenagers sullenly turned to face Dumbledore, his voice cracking through theirs. "Mr. Lupin - how did this come about?"

Under their Headmasters' stern glare, and being singled out, Remus gulped and then straightened, his eyes closing briefly as he began: from the beginning of the year, Snape had hinted that he knew what Remus was, always dropping hints in the hallways whenever they'd cross paths.

Sirius broke in, "Please. He was threatening Remus! He'd call him a creature, a freak, a monster. Remus wouldn't hurt anyone-"

"Oh, but he  _did_ ," sneered Snape, glaring hatefully across the room at Sirius, who snarled back.

"And whose fault was that?" the eldest Black shot. "Crouch wasn't even supposed to be there-"

"How is Mr. Crouch involved?" asked Flitwick, his frown deep as he interrupted the two. "And Miss Evans here?"

A few eyes turned to Hermione, who flushed and fidgeted, but Sirius took one look at her and miserably said, "It was me."

Hermione glanced up in surprise.

"It was me," repeated Sirius, glancing away from everyone. "I was… angry. I let my anger get the best of me, and I taunted Snape. I - I got an owl from home, and it…" He turned a very embarrassed red and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. "I realize now how stupid I was-"

Snape snorted, and Sirius slammed his mouth shut.

James, pained, said quietly, "Sirius taunted Snape by the lake after our Defense OWL. It… got a bit heated, and Lily kind of…" he winced, glancing at Sirius before forging on, "made things worse. Hermione managed to get Sirius to stop, to turn and walk away when Snape called her a -" James stopped, glancing at Hermione. She looked back. "He called her," his voice dropped, "a  _mudblood_."

McGonagall hissed, and Slughorn turned a disappointed stare on his charge, who squirmed slightly under the attention, two bright spots appearing on his cheeks.

Dumbledore, looking hard at Snape, turned back to James. "Please continue, Mr. Potter."

Swallowing, James nodded. "There was… some posturing and Sirius-"

"I told Snape and Hermione to come to the Shrieking Shack at midnight if they wanted to know the truth," finished a miserable Sirius.

"You  _dinnae_ ," gasped McGonagall, turning a furious glare on Sirius.

Flitwick, near Regulus and Hermione, glanced up at his Ravenclaw and muttered, "oh dear, oh dear."

"We immediately went back to the dorms to tell Sirius off," James immediately rushed forward with the story, his voice rising earnestly. "He shouldn't have done it; we all knew it. _He_  knew it."

Sirius nodded, and Remus glanced at his friend from the corner of his eyes as he said, quietly, "I told him to find Snape and apologize. We all did."

"Did you?" asked Dumbledore, peering over his half-moon spectacles at Sirius.

Peter nodded. "I went with him. We looked  _everywhere_  but couldn't find Sniv-uh, Snape at all. Then it got late so we decided to go to the-"

Sirius shot Peter a glare so fierce the teen squeaked and firmly clamped his mouth shut, realizing what he almost admitted to regarding their animagus abilities. Hermione watched as James put a hand on Remus's shoulder, the other one that had supported him stretching to touch Sirius, who slumped.

"We went to the Shack to cut Snape off," said Sirius, his voice monotone. "No one was there except Remus, so Pete and I thought to wait."

Slughorn, horrified, asked in a strangled voice, "You remained with Mr. Lupin while he transformed?"

Sirius shrugged. "He wouldn't hurt us-"

"A werewolf's nature is to harm any human-" interrupted Madam Pomfrey.

"Well, we weren't human," finished Sirius, jutting his chin out stubbornly.

There was a brief moment of silence then broken by Snape who rose to his feet and let out a triumphant, " _HA_! I knew it! I knew you had done something illegal! Unregistered animagi!"

However, whatever he was feeling was mitigated as Slughorn reared back in surprise and then surveyed the four Gryffindors with appraising eyes. "Unregistered animagi? At your ages? How impressive!"

"Horace!" chided McGonagall and Flitwick, both turning to glare at him.

The man shrugged, while Dumbledore sighed. "What happened then?"

Sirius and Peter looked at each other, with Peter reaching up to scratch his nose nervously. "The latch to the tunnel under the shack undid itself."

 _Likely story,_  thought Hermione, remembering everything Snape had lobbied at the latch when they arrived.  _Someone undid it._

But Sirius's confused expression made Hermione pause. She glanced at Regulus, who was staring at both Sirius and Peter, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought.

Peter continued, "Moony - er, Remus - was pretty bothered by what was under us, so we tried to stop him, but…"

"He got through," finished Sirius, glancing at those across the beds from him, lingering on Regulus and Hermione. "We transformed and followed him, only to see him going after Snape, Crouch, and Hermione."

The professors turned to Hermione and Snape, now.

"Yes, Miss Evans, Mr. Snape," began Dumbledore, but his voice wasn't nearly as angry as it had been earlier, "How did you come to be in the tunnel under the Shack?"

"That was me," began James, and he launched into his coming down from the dorm room, finding Hermione ready to leave the Gryffindor Common Room after speaking to Lily - Hermione had to give him points for not mentioning their fight, but she was sure the professors would learn about it shortly, with the way the gossip mill at Hogwarts ran - to them searching for Crouch and then finding him crossing the grounds with Snape.

By the time James came to the point where they arrived in the tunnel, telling Snape to back away, all Hermione could focus on was why Barty went with him. At what point did Snape come up to the Gryffindor common room, and how did he convince Barty to go with him? Her friend knew she was still in the room - and Barty disliked Snape - he disliked everyone that wasn't her or Regulus - and there would be no way he'd go anywhere with the Slytherin.

So  _why_?

"-that's when I saw Moony break though Hermione's barrier - wood went everywhere and he tumbled right past them - and then slashed at Crouch. He turned on Hermione next, and Sirius and I caught his attention to give her time to get Crouch out," finished James, glancing at her although she was too distracted to realize that he avoided mentioning her punch the werewolf.

"Snape showed up," admitted a rather disgruntled Sirius, crossing his arms. "He helped pull Crouch out and then Hermione afterward."

The Headmaster sighed, looking every inch his hundred-plus age when he turned to the last silent student who was involved and had yet to contribute. Hermione felt the weight of his stare and glanced at him, but deftly avoided his eyes and any potential Legilimency attacks.

"I see," he said, quietly. "And Miss Evans? Is there anything you want to add?"

"Yeah," said Hermione slowly. She turned to Snape, and levelled him the most dead-eye stare she'd ever given anyone in her life and asked, "Why  _the fuck_ was Barty with you?"

"Miss Evans!" McGonagall's scandalized voice stopped Snape from any reply - although the Slytherin merely stared back at Hermione, his thin lips pressed into a tight line. He was breathing heavily through his nose and his dark eyes glittered in the mid-morning sun, but he did not move or attempt to answer her.

"I cannot begin to explain to you how dangerous last night was," began Dumbledore, levelling those involved with a steely look. "Young Mr. Crouch has suffered greatly and will carry the scars of last night for the rest of his life."

Remus looked sick again and seemed to wilt on himself, forcing James to haul him up.

"The six of you  _will_  be punished for your actions," the man continued, and McGonagall nodded at his side, looking every inch the stern deputy Headmistress that she was. Both Flitwick and Slughorn were equally grave, but both were curious, as it seemed that Dumbledore was making the decisions on his own without any Head of House input. Madam Pomfrey took the time to step away, out of the line of sight.

"Classes are over and as such, there is no point in assigning detentions," the man began, and McGonagall's agreeing nods stopped as she turned to stare at him. Peter smiled brightly. " _However_ , we will revisit this idea after the summer when you return for your sixth and fifth years, respectively, as you will have time to reflect on your actions from last night."

Peter's smile dropped.

"Headmaster?" prompted McGonagall quietly as the man fell silent, looking at them in turn.

Hermione swallowed nervously, feeling her hands turn sweaty.  _I spent so long staying out from your gaze, and now look where I am._

Regulus squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"Like Mr. Crouch, Mr. Lupin here is a victim of circumstance," began the Headmaster slowly. Remus looked up, shock and wonder crossing his face. "As he hardly went out looking for human flesh, I find it unfair to have Mr. Lupin's -  _nature_  - revealed."

"What!" burst out Snape, rising from his seat on the bed.

"Indeed, Mr. Snape," the man said, turning to him. There was a hardness to his eyes when he spoke next. "As Mr. Lupin is nearly done his education, and this was his only - lapse, so to speak - I think we can continue to allow him to attend Hogwarts while myself and the professors update some security issues for future full moons."

"He's a beast! An animal!" protested Snape, throwing a hand out at the Gryffindor, who quailed.

"Shut it, Snape!" shouted a furious Sirius.

Snape turned to Sirius and went to reply, but sparks erupted from Dumbledore's wand, and he sullenly turned back to the Headmaster.

"I will require an Unbreakable Vow, Mr. Snape," the man said, his voice quiet. "And from you as well, Miss Evans, Mr. Black - to keep Mr. Lupin's secret." Both Sirius and Regulus started, but Sirius quickly realized that the Headmaster wasn't looking at him.

At her side, Regulus stiffened. "Of course, Headmaster," he said in a rather stiff, formal tone that Hermione immediately could tell meant that he wasn't happy with the outcome.

"That's not necessary!" exclaimed James, making everyone turn to him in surprise. "Hermione's trustworthy! She already knew about Remus and his secret but hadn't told anyone."

"And Reg won't say anything," continued Sirius, a stare levelled - and met and replied to - at his brother. Regulus's face smoothed from expression.

"I will not take that chance," replied Dumbledore, glancing between the two Gryffindors and the Ravenclaw and Slytherin opposite them. "Now - Miss Evans? Would you care to go first?"

Hermione bit her lip and then sighed, stepping forward. "If I must."

Dumbledore's cold blue eyes bore into hers quickly before she darted them away. "You must," he replied, and then she stood opposite the man, her right wrist out as an unhappy Professor Flitwick served as their bonder. Hermione watched the yellow flames of the promise weigh on her wrist until it sank into her skin, her magic protesting the secret she was forced to keep on pain of death.

Regulus went next; Snape, last. Both Slytherins wore equally perturbed looks that disappeared as their Head of House - Slughorn - worked as their bonder. His disappointment was easy to read, but Hermione wasn't sure if he was disappointed at their lack of full agreement with Dumbledore, or for being put in the situation of a forced Unbreakable Vow, to begin with.

Hermione found herself back on the bed, idly rubbing the unmarked skin around her right wrist as she watched with unseeing eyes as Regulus and Snape took their vows; opposite her, McGonagall was thickly berating James, Sirius, and Peter, talking about issuing detentions regardless of it being the end of the year.

"We can sort that out when they return in the autumn, Minerva," broke in Dumbledore, a twinkle back in his eyes. "Now, there is something else-"

"Something  _else_?" groaned Sirius.

"Yes, Mr. Black, something else," said Dumbledore, his mouth twitching under his mustache. "Why, the life debts many of you created last night."

Hermione's head sharply turned to Dumbledore.  _You can't seriously begin to-_

"Miss Evans and Mr. Potter went to the Shrieking Shack to save Mr. Crouch and Mr. Snape; there is a debt there," the headmaster explained with his twinkle on full as he glanced between a slack-jawed James, a narrow-eyed Hermione, and then a furious Snape. "Of course, then Miss Evans and Mr. Crouch saved Mr. Snape-"

"Wait," muttered Peter, "I'm confused. Who saved who and who has what debt now?"

"Whom," muttered Hermione, causing Regulus to tug sharply at their still connected hands in reprimand. She scowled briefly but then sighed.

"Ah yes," agreed Dumbledore, "It  _is_  tricky, is it not? Mr. Snape owes Miss Evans a life debt. I do believe there is a minor one owed to Mr. Potter from Mr. Snape as well."

Sirius wriggled his eyebrows as he nudged James in the side; but his best friend edged away with Remus, looking away from his best friend. Sirius's wriggling eyebrows stopped and his face fell.

"Of course, there is also another owed to Mr. Crouch by Mr. Snape," continued Dumbledore, smiling at the group, many who looked back at him blankly.

"What?" Snape looked near apocalyptic.

"Why," beamed Dumbledore, while Slughorn looked on with a twisted mouth, "Mr. Crouch also tried to help you, Mr. Snape - especially as you left him and Miss Evans. Of course, there is an equal debt that he owes  _you_  for helping him. Miss Evans would've had one toward you, but she did save you by using magic to protect you and Mr. Crouch from Mr. Lupin's werewolf form."

Then, his eyes turned to Hermione. Hastily, Hermione threw all her ill-willed thoughts about the Headmaster behind a barrier far thicker than what she conjured the other night, and then layered nonsensical memory after nonsensical memory to ensure the man didn't catch a stray thought.

"I hope you use your debt wisely, Miss Evans," the man said, "As not only does Mr. Snape owe you a debt, but so does Mr. Crouch. You undoubtedly saved his life last night - and having such a debt might come in hand at a later time."

Hermione fought to keep a scowl off her face, grinding her teeth instead.  _Is he referencing Voldemort here?_

The man turned his smile on the teenagers, and Hermione tuned out the man's speech of the power of friendship, working together, and putting aside differences. There was some variation, but it was eerily similar to the speech he gave in her fourth year when Cedric Diggory died.

"-and finally," he finished, making her nearly inaudibly sigh in relief, while Regulus sent her a tiny smirk from the corner of his mouth as he glanced quickly at her, "We have points to award!"

"Pardon me?" squeaked Flitwick, while Slughorn blinked in surprise.

"Albus, surely-" McGonagall tried to speak, but Dumbledore waved a genial hand and she fell silent, her mouth a small 'o' in shocked surprise.

"Yes, points," the man said, turning first to Peter. "To Mr. Pettigrew, I award ten points for being steadfast and true as a friend."

Peter preened while the other teenagers looked on in confusion.

"To Mr. Black, twenty-five points for recognizing his faults and attempting to make amends." The teen in question blinked in shock, and then a slow, confused but happy smile spread across his face as he looked around the room.

A hysterical laugh tried to bubble up in Hermione's throat.  _Is he really doing this? Is this really happening?_ she thought, eyes wide, as the Headmaster turned to James, who froze.

"Fifty points to Mr. Potter, for his display of bravery and courage in the face of danger-"

Hermione bit down hard on her lips and Regulus squeezed her hand tightly, his knuckles turning white - not in comfort this time, but anger.

"-and twenty-five to Miss Evans for inner-house cooperation," the Headmaster said, turning to smile at her, while Hermione stared back. "And  _another_  twenty-five to Ravenclaw for her bravery and courage in the face of danger." His smile was nearly beatific. "Miss Evans, you are a credit to your House, and had the Hat not put you in Ravenclaw, I'd imagine we'd be seeing you in Gryffindor instead!"

"Albus!" snapped Flitwick, his thick and bushy eyebrows down in a V.

"And, finally," the man said, and Hermione could see Snape straighten up, a hopefully glean to his eyes as he looked at the man despite the Headmaster not looking at him, "fifteen to Mr. Crouch of Ravenclaw, for inner house cooperation and doing what was right."

Hermione watched as Snape sagged, his exclusion obvious.  _This wasn't right,_  she thought, taking a deep breath.  _No one should've been awarded points, and if we were, then Snape deserved some as well for coming back for Barty and me._

"C'mon," muttered Regulus, turning to Hermione. "If you don't need anything, we're being dismissed."

She had been lost in her thoughts; she hadn't seen Dumbledore leave, but he had, with McGonagall at heel, leaving her Gryffindor students behind to huddle together around Remus. The atmosphere in the hospital wing was odd in response, with there a heaviness to it that had not been there before the awarded points.

A solemn Slughorn clapped Snape on the shoulder and the teen looked at him balefully. "Let's go, Severus," the older potions master said, his voice very quiet, and very carefully modulated. Snape nodded.

Slughorn turned to Regulus, a question in his face, but Regulus shook his head. Hermione could read her friends' face easily: he wanted to stay with her and Barty. Slughorn read it too, and nodded; then, he and Snape were gone.

"Reggie-"

Regulus turned, spotting Sirius a few feet away, a cautious look on his face.

Sirius took a step forward. "Reggie - you have to believe me - I know my anger - but the points, it wasn't my idea -"

"Sirius," said Regulus through his teeth. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled noisily. "You're my brother, but right now I can't even  _look_  at you."

The eldest Black looked like he'd been badly hexed, reeling back with wide, pained eyes. He looked around, at Regulus, at Hermione, and even Flitwick for support, but found none. Instead, he gave his brother a tight smile and nod, and retreated to his friends, where James and Peter were speaking lowly to Remus.

"Miss Evans," said Flitwick, catching her attention and making her look down at him, "Perhaps it's best if you return to your dorm now?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. No, thank you, Professor - but I'm going to stay. I'm going to stay with Barty."

"Me too," agreed Regulus quietly, causing Flitwick to survey him.

The charms professor was quiet for a long, long moment, but then nodded, his eyes turning back to his Ravenclaw student. There was approval in his face, a softening to it that she hadn't seen all night since he appeared in the hospital wing.

He reached forward and patted Hermione on her hand, and squeaked, "Of course, dear."

Sighing, Hermione collapsed back onto the bed, untangling her hand from Regulus' as she did so. She felt so tired, absolutely exhausted from more than just her long twenty-four-hour wakefulness, but because of the emotional wringer she had just gone through.

"Hermione…"

Her head slowly rose. James opened his mouth, but then shut it, his hazel eyes running over her. He then sighed, running a hand through his hair, messing it up further as he looked away. "Never mind."

He turned and retreated the same way Sirius had, and with a few muttered words, Peter and Sirius were leaving with him. Alone, Remus looked small and pale, and when he felt Hermione's eyes on him, he glanced at her. His amber eyes - similar in colour to hers, how had she never noticed that? - widened in alarm, and he hurriedly twisted over onto his side, presenting his back to her and Regulus as he drew the bed sheet up and tight.

She sighed.  _I think it's time I acquaint myself with Remus._  But as she and Regulus stood, walking over to the curtain that separated Barty from everyone else, she finished with:  _tomorrow._

* * *

Hermione poked at her porridge the next day, alone at the Ravenclaw table for the first time in four years; without Barty at her side, she felt exposed, like there was a gaping, open wound at her side.

The knowledge of  _why_  she felt that way made her scowl into her bowl.

The entire school was running amuck with rumours of what happened the night before; everyone knew that Lily exploded on Hermione - the young, time travelling Ravenclaw's ability to be invisible was now blown out of the water, and she'd be incapable of hiding in her protective shell of invisibility. James' own part in the argument had been taken out of context, especially as many Gryffindors had seen him not only tell off the others in the common room but leave with Hermione; it began a slew of new rumours of an Evans' sister love triangle with Potter in the middle.

Hermione disliked that rumour; she knew that James and Lily were supposed to get married if Harry was to exist one day - and Hermione desperately needed her best friend in her life. But so much had already changed - had she threatened Harry's existence? What would her room-provided best friend say to her concerns now?

She could feel the sensation of numerous eyes on her being, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck tingling in warning.

"Hermione." Looking up, Regulus loomed over her, causing those around her to stop talking to stare unashamedly. "It's time to go. Are you ready?"

In response, Hermione put down her spoon and pushed her barely-eaten porridge away. She stood, joining her friend as they crossed the Great Hall, passing by the Hufflepuff table and then, lastly, the Gryffindor one.

Hermione kept her head forward but she was acutely aware of her sister's eyes on her as she passed. It was only when she was nearly at the door did she chance a glance back, and saw Lily's miserable expression at her plate morph into annoyance as Marlene whispered at her.

She sighed and followed Regulus to the hospital wing.

Inside, Remus was long gone, having escaped after a day spent in the room to his dormitory; currently, Barty was the only occupant.

He was also awake and sitting up.

"Barty!"

Hermione was barely conscious of moving; one second she was at the hospital wing doors, Regulus at her side, and the next she had her arms wrapped around Barty's wiry frame as he chuckled hoarsely and muttered, "ouch!"

She drew back and shakily whispered, "Sorry," surprised to learn that there were tears in her eyes and a wobble to her voice as she did so.

Alarmed, Barty glanced from her to Regulus, who stood beside her as she drew back, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets with a very somber face. "I - what happened?" Barty looked back and forth between them. His voice rose. "What happened? There was a -"

He stopped. His memory caught up to him and then his breath stuttered and he paled. His round eyes - already wide - went wider as he looked between his two friends, his breaths turning into gasps as he struggled to sit up, trying to get out of bed and  _move_. "Merlin.  _Oh, Merlin_  - am I - I'm a -  _I'm going to be sick_ -"

"Calm down," soothed Regulus, leaning forward and putting a hand on either side of Barty's shoulders, pushing him back.

Barty gasped, struggling.

"Barty," Regulus said, firmer, as Hermione leaned forward and grabbed one of Barty's flailing hands. "Listen to me. You're not a werewolf."

Barty stilled immediately, staring at Regulus. "What?" he whispered.

Regulus lips pursed. "You're not a werewolf, Barty-"

"But," he stopped and looked down at his chest. His hospital wing robes had opened in his struggle, revealing his pale chest and the blood-tinged bandages wrapped around his middle. He looked back up in confusion. "But?"

Hermione and Regulus shared a look and Hermione gingerly sat on Barty's bed, by his hip. She laced their fingers together, tugging until Barty looked at her. "You're not a wolf but you  _were_  slashed by one the other night. You'll have some lupine traits from now on."

Barty remained silent for so long that Regulus and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, through bloodless lips and wide, terrified eyes, "Do my parents know?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away, while Regulus shook his head. "No. Dumbledore is keeping everything secret."

"But-?" the question on Barty's lips never formed, as realization dawned on him. He looked away, and Hermione resolved immediately that  _she'd_  never use Barty as leverage or a pawn, the way Dumbledore was potentially keeping him for. And by the gleam in Regulus' eyes, Hermione knew he felt the same way.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was crowded as Hermione's fellow Hogwarts classmates shouted and called to one another up and down the corridors of the moving train. She had initially sequestered herself with Barty and Regulus, drawing down the curtain over the window in the door and slinging every privacy spell she knew.

There was a haunted look in Barty's eyes that she did not like, and bags under them as he came to terms with his new existence. His prejudice against werewolves - as a Pureblood - certainly didn't help, and he was bouncing between hating Remus, hating himself, and hating Dumbledore and Sirius for the situation he found himself in.

Hermione could only handle so much before she excused herself, citing need to change back into her Muggle street wear. She stalked the corridors, letting her frustration and anger of the situation and toward her sister - who was ignoring her - manifest in her angry gestures as she slammed the toilet door, and by the jerky movements of pulling her robe and uniform off as she wriggled into jeans.

Just as she opened the door, her uniform wrapped in her robes and bundled under her arm, she saw Snape stalk past, an ugly scowl on his face.

Without thought, Hermione followed until he was near the end of the train, by the baggage compartment.

 _He must have his own compartment,_  she thought as the crowd thinned until he slid open the second last train door, revealing an empty and quiet corridor. Hermione took advantage and nimbly dodged forward, her wand already out, and grabbed the other teen's shoulder.

He squawked, his own hand plunging into his robes, but she was faster, spinning him around and slamming him hard against the wall, using wandless magic to slam the train door shut and locking it. In the same move, she thrust her wand tip up against his jugular, leaning up and forward into his face.

"Snape," she hissed, eyes narrowed.

His narrowed back in response. "Hermione-"

" _No_! No, you don't get to call me that. Not after what happened," she snapped, her voice low. His mouth snapped shut, and there was something unreadable to her in his dark eyes as he stared at her. "I don't know how or why Barty was with you, Snape, but if I find out you did anything - threaten him, manipulate him - to get him to go with you that night, my god, it'll be the last thing you ever do to another Ravenclaw, do you understand?"

He barred his teeth at her.

She pushed the wand into his neck further and he craned it away. " _Do. You. Understand?_ "

Slowly, he nodded.

Hermione pulled away, slowly, easing down on her heels and then stepping back while keeping her wand trained on him. Snape brought one hand up to massage at his neck, his mouth twisted into an ugly form as he stared at her.

"We used to play together," he said.

Hermione frowned at the strange topic. "So?"

"We used to be friends," he continued.

She scoffed. " _We_  were never friends, Snape. You had Lily and that was all you cared about - don't fool yourself."

His mouth turned down further. "And you don't need anyone, is that it?"

"If that's what you think," she replied, stepping back one more step and letting her wand slowly fall. "And I mean it - stay away from Barty. Stay away from me-"

"Not Regulus Black?"

The sneer in his voice made Hermione nearly roll her eyes. "Reg can take care of himself-"

"-Oh yes, he doesn't need some mudblood to help him-"

She laughed, something high and cruel as she moved to the train door, eyes on the boy who grew up with her and her sister in Cokeworth. She doubted she'd see much of him this summer. "Oh, Snape, you have no idea. You really have  _no idea_."

Then she stepped through the door and was walking back to her compartment with her friends, her wand tucked away and her head.  _I'm done,_  she thought, almost feverishly.  _I have spent so much time trying to maintain the timeline - trying to do what was right instead of easy. But things are changing now and I'm not going to be a pawn. Not this time around._

She was so lost in thought she nearly hexed the student who grabbed her arm and spun her around, her wand tip smoking and glowing.

James Potter threw his hands up and backed away until he hit the other wall of the corridor. "Blimey, Hermione! It's me! It's just me!"

She gingerly lowered the wand. "James."

"Hey," he replied, nervously shuffling as they looked at each other. The train rocked and Hermione let her body roll with the movement; behind James, scenery - green pastures - flew by. They were silent, eyeing each other nervously. So much had happened and she wasn't sure what to say to him - and, by the way he was shuffling, nervously fingering the sleeve of his sweater, he wasn't sure, either.

"I -" Hermione shook her head. "I think it might be best if you keep Black away from me for a bit-"

"Black?" he frowned and then sighed. "Sirius. Yeah - uh… yeah, might be best."

He ran a hand through his hair, making Hermione eye him as Lily's accusation ran through her head:  _Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick…_

"Have you uh… recovered?" he asked, quietly. Hermione looked at him in surprise, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he added, "You were bruised and had some cuts from the other night."

 _Oh,_  she thought, and then nodded. "Yeah - it wasn't much. I'm fine."

James nodded. "I saw - I don't know what I saw - but I could've sworn you punched Moony in the jaw the other night-"

Hermione laughed weakly, a little nervous. "I think I did. It's amazing what the human body can do when you're full of adrenaline!"

The look James sent her from behind his glasses as a mix of fond amusement and skepticism, but he smiled at her and she felt her face respond in a similar, soft smile.

They were staring at each other, smiling, when his faded and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"About what?" Hermione was confused.

James gave a tiny laugh, looking everywhere but at her. "I'm not sure - the entire night, what happened; Sirius; I suppose, even you finding out about us being animagi - Moony -" his face dropped and he added, quietly, "Lily."

Then he paused, his eyes returning to her. His voice was tender when he asked, "Has she spoken to you since?"

Hermione stilled. "No. Not really."

"Will that be awkward at home?" James asked, his face screwing up.

"I'll manage," replied Hermione with a tiny shrug. "I'm used to being ignored there, too."

His hazel eyes widened from behind the glasses, and Hermione could see that he wanted to say something else. She quickly swallowed and plastered a smile on her face as she said, as brightly and dismissively as she could, "Have a good summer, Potter-"

"James."

She paused. "What?"

"My name," he said, in the same even tone he used. He was staring at her, something in his eyes that made her heart pound furiously against her chest. "It's James. I'd like it - I'd like it if you called me by my name."

"I-" she stopped and then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, nervously. She licked her lips and said, "Okay," paused, and then added, "James."

He smiled, something beautiful and wide that stretched across his face. Hermione felt herself respond, the heat of a blush against her cheeks. He grinned down at her, rocking on his heels.

"I'll owl you this summer, yeah?" he said, turning it from a question into a firm decision that she could not stop. Instead, she just nodded, and he turned, glancing only once at her over his shoulder as he walked down the corridor, whistling as he did so.

She shook her head -  _what just happened?_  - and took a deep breath. She was going to need some happy to hold onto before returning to her compartment, and, the car ride from London to Cokeworth.

Hermione wasn't wrong; Lily didn't wait for her as she exited the train, heading straight for the barrier and passing through to their father, who was hastily folding and tucking his newspaper away when Hermione emerged, spotting him easily in their pre-arranged rendezvous spot. The following car ride was filled with a tense silence, with Leo Evans' eyes darting from Lily in the front passenger seat to Hermione in the back in confusion.

When they finally arrived home, Lily dragged her trunk across the threshold, dropping it at the base of the stairs. Petunia, who was coming down the stairs, stopped as Lily aggressively brushed by her and down the hallway, pushing the kitchen door open as she went straight to their mother.

Petunia turned to stare wide-eyed at Hermione as she pulled her trunk in with her father holding the other end.

"What was that about?" her eldest sister asked.

Hermione sighed as she and her father put her trunk down. "It's a long story."

"I'll say," muttered Leo, "I don't think I've ever seen the two of you like this."

Petunia's wide eyes turned between Hermione and her father, watching as he muttered something about a drink. He disappeared into the living room, and Petunia took the last two steps from the stairs. She then leaned forward and hugged Hermione.

In response, Hermione tensed, briefly, but then sank into the hug and wrapped her arms around her tall, willowy sister.

"I have time if you want to tell me," she muttered into Hermione's curls, drawing back to look down at her in concern. "But… if you want to avoid that, I'm seeing Sean later. Want to come along? He's been asking about you and your friend."

Hermione glanced back at the closed kitchen door, and then her father in the living room. She bit her lip and then turned back to Petunia. "Sure."

The smile on Petunia's face would've produced the brightest  _lumos_.

* * *

The summer passed quickly.

Lily continued to ignore Hermione, her face a mix between stubborn pride and wistfulness whenever Hermione caught her looking at her - but, the feelings of longing never remained long as Hermione waited for Lily to come to her and she never did.

Instead, to keep herself occupied, she spent time with Petunia and Sean. She got to know him better, and she thoroughly approved of him (inwardly thinking that anyone was better than Vernon Dursley). Even better, Petunia's plans for post-secondary were coming together they way she wanted, and Hermione was excited for her eldest sister.

Barty and Regulus corresponded with her regularly, and she visited Barty in London whenever she could, including the two full moons that summer, which were a test of her patience as his straw-coloured hair became shaggy, he finally grew a beard, and he sent her and Regulus on a four-hour long journey for the best steak in London one night.

Moreover, on top of all that - James sent her weekly owls.

It was baffling, especially the first time the owl post arrived and Lily reached for it - a letter from Marlene and Mary mixed in - and saw James' scrawl. She had opened the letter, only to hastily hand it over to Hermione when she realized the salutation was for her and not the fellow Gryffindor.

Hermione, too, was baffled, but wrote back, saving each one and smoothing them out between pages in a journal. She brushed her fingers across them now, her eyes lingering on the last correspondence they had when James wrote,  _looking forward to seeing you again next Friday night in our usual spot. Arithmancy won't be the same without your help -_

And she smiled.

* * *

James was nervous.

Not only was he not looking forward to his meeting with Professor McGonagall upon their return - as he and his friends were to meet with her after dinner for those threatened detentions from the Incident at the end of their fifth year - but because of a certain Ravenclaw.

He fought the urge to pace in the tiny cabin on the Hogwarts Express but ended up jiggling his leg up and down quickly. At his side, Sirius glanced over and then teased, "Merlin, why don't you just ask her out already?"

His best friend, who had permanently moved in with him that summer after being kicked out and disowned by the Black family, was privy to James's secrets, including his most recent crush. As a result, he blushed a furious red.

Remus, who was pressed against the window, felt his mouth drop open. "Prongs - you're blushing -"

"We  _are_  talking about Lily, right?" asked Peter, glancing around at the three other occupants. James' blush darkened in hue and Sirius's grin stretched. In shock, Peter felt  _his_  mouth drop open as he stuttered, "Wait! So, is Lily out of the picture then?"

James slouched in his seat, fidgeting a little. He ended up reaching into his pocket and gripping the snitch there, letting it out and zoom around the compartment as his eyes tracked it.  _If he was focusing on that as he spoke, it wouldn't be as embarrassing_ , he reasoned.

"After what she said, and how Hermione's handled everything…" he shrugged. "I guess… I want to get to know Hermione better before doing anything. I can't just go from one sister to another."

Sirius snorted. "I can."

The three other Marauders rolled their eyes.

Remus turned to James and gave him a patient smile. "Just keep seeing her in the library. I'm sure it'll lead to something more in time."

James grinned. "I like that idea. Thanks, Moony."

"I liked my idea better," pouted Sirius, slouching in his seat and crossing his arms as he watched James reach out and pluck the snitch from the air.

"Any idea of yours," began Remus dryly, "Is nothing but empty production. And besides, I think your ideas don't work too well on Miss Hermione Evans - or do you not remember what happened the last time you tried to get her attention?"

Sirius cringed. "It could've worked-"

Peter sniggered.

Friday came soon enough, after two days of classes including one Arithmancy class that was full of revision that James  _completely_ understood, thanks to Hermione's tutoring. He excited bounded from the Gryffindor common room, rushing past his friends (and Sirius who hooted after him), and past Lily, Marlene and Mary as they entered.

"No running in the halls, Potter!" he heard Lily shout after him, but he waved her off, dashing through the hallways and down a moving staircase as he made his way straight to the library. The place was nearly empty except for a few enterprising Ravenclaws who were already frantically scribbling on their parchments, taking notes from towering stacks of books from a variety of subjects.

James grinned at the sight and began to slow, throwing his shoulders back and running a hand through his hair as he turned down the zoology towards Hermione's secluded corner that she preferred to work in. (And a tiny part of him admitted he liked working there, too.)

A loud burst of feminine laughter broke through the silence in the library, and James felt his smile stretch further, his heart skipping a beat, knowing that Hermione was around the corner. With an extra bounce in his step, he turned, and-

His heart stopped beating for a moment and he froze.

Hermione was in her usual seat, facing the window with the bookshelves behind her. Her head was thrown back in laughter, her curls spilling down the back of the chair as she leaned back, her throat long and her hand reaching out to sprawl across her parchment and books on the table, ready for James.

But, opposite her in his usual seat, sprawled a tall, lanky-looking teenager in Gryffindor tie. He had foppish brown hair, longer than regulation but shorter than Sirius' rakish curls that framed his square face and dipped to cover his eyes. He wore glasses though, and the teen's hand reached up to push his hair off his forehead as he grinned down at Hermione.

He leaned forward and James must have made a noise because Hermione - and the other Gryffindor that he didn't recognize - turned to look at him.

"James!" greeted Hermione, breathlessly.

His gut churned and he took a tiny step forward, his hand clutching his bag strap tightly. He glanced between the two, his mouth tight as he gave a wobbly grin. "Hermione, hey-"

"Have you met Dirk?" she continued, glancing at the foppish hair Gryffindor, who gave her an easy grin in reply. He turned back to James and James could've  _sworn_  the other Gryffindor smirked at him. "He's in Gryffindor, like you!"

James would never be sure what he said in reply, other than he mumbled something and beat a hasty retreat from the table and library corner. It wasn't until he was several hallways down from the library and on a different floor, pressed up against a wall, that he took the time to  _stop_ and  _think_  - and wonder what the hell he was going to do now.

* * *

Hermione turned to Dirk Cresswell, confusion writ on her face. "Well, that was weird-"

"Not at all," replied Dirk, shrugging a little. "Anyway, I should go; you have a tutoring session now, right? I'll see you around, Hermione."

"Yeah," mumbled Hermione, twirling a quill and glancing thoughtfully where James had stood a minute earlier. "A tutoring session..."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay – the holiday season, plus a new kitty, and complete exhaustion kept me from getting this chapter done. I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> I'd also like to take the time to thank everyone who reviews/comments, favourites, kudos and bookmarks this story on FFnet and A03. I never thought this story would be as popular as it has become – I have over 1k kudos on A03, and this story is on 25 different communities on FFnet, with a ridiculous amount of followers. I am so so beyond humbled by everyone's positive thoughts and feelings toward this story. 


End file.
